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By  ELIZABETH  W,  CHAMPNEY 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  FEUDAL  CHATEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF   THE   RENAISSANCE   CHA- 
TEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  BOURBON  CHATEAUX. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  FRENCH  ABBEYS. 

ROMANCE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  VILLAS. 

ROMANCE  OF  ROMAN  VILLAS. 

ROMANCE  OF  IMPERIAL  ROME. 


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The  Island  of  Death 

From    the   painting   by   Arnold    Boecklin.     By   permission    of    the 
Photographic  Union,  Muenchen 


Jii')* 


ROMANCE  OF 
IMPERIAL  ROME 


BY 

ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 

AUTHOR   OF    "  ROMANCE    OF   THE    FEUDAL    CHATEAUX,"    "ROMANCE    OF  THE 

RENAISSANCE    CHATEAUX,"    "  ROMANCE    OF    FRENCH    ABBEYS," 

"  ROMANCE    OF   THE    ITALIAN    VILLAS,"    CtC. 


IVITH  60  PHOTOGRAVURE  AND  OTHER 
ILLUSTRATIONS 


G.  P.   PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK   AND    LONDON 

^be  tknickecbochec  press 
1910 


3i*)^i 


Copyright,  igio 

BY 

ELIZABETH  W.  CHAMPNEY 


Ube  ttnicJierbocIier  tireee,  mew  lt?otft 


C.35 


Zo 

MY   ALMA   MATER 

VASSAR   COLLEGE 

WHO,    LONG  BEFORE    MY    FEET  TROD   THE    PALATINE,    MADE    ROME 

THE   CITY    OF    MY   HEART,    AND   HER   LONG-VANISHED 

MEN   AND   WOMEN   THE    COMPANIONS 

OF  MY   DREAMS 


I 


INTRODUCTION 

And   ye  silent,   supreme   in    serene   and    victorious 
marble, 

Ye  that  encircle  the  walls  of  the  stately  Vatican 
chambers, 

Juno  and  Ceres,  Minerva,  Apollo,  the  Muses,  and 
Bacchus, 

Ye  that  are  ranged  in  the  halls  of  the  mystic  Chris- 
tian pontiff, 

Are  ye  also  baptised?    Are  ye  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  ? 

Utter,  O  some  one,  the  word  that  shall  reconcile 
Ancient  and  Modern. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


STANDING  where  the  poet  stood  in  the 
Rotunda  of  the  Vatican,  the  focus  of 
the  art  and  faith  of  ancient  Rome,  we  seem 
to  hear  the  plea  he  voiced  echoed  hy  the 
majestic   statues   of  the   gods   and   their  vo- 


vi  Introduction 

taries,  whose  faces  regard  us  with  such  calm 
confidence  as  though  still  trusting  in  the  pro- 
tection of  the  divinities  whom  in  life  they 
worshipped. 

For  here  is  the  beautiful  Barberini  Juno, 
patroness  alike  of  empresses  and  of  all  noble 
women,  here  the  god  of  brute  force,  Hercules, 
too  highly  venerated  by  Roman  men, — with 
the  Emperor  Hadrian  appropriately  waver- 
ing between  the  sway  of  the  masterful  deity 
and  that  of  Ceres,  goddess  of  peaceful  country- 
life,  who  calls  him  to  his  Tiburtine  villa. 

Here  too  is  Faustina  the  elder,  her  queenly 
head  averted  from  the  lure  of  Bacchus,  though 
he  presents  himself  in  the  guise  of  the  en- 
trancing Antonius;  and  here,  as  we  tread  the 
nereid-tesselated  pavement  round,  we  recog- 
nise the  stately  statues  of  other  dethroned  di- 
vinities and  the  appealing  faces  of  imperial 
men  and  women  all  demanding  in  the  name 
of  our  common  humanity  a  fuller  comprehen- 
sion and  a  more  generous  sympathy. 

In  the  Hall  of  the  Emperors  of  the  Capi- 
toline  Museum,  the  demand  is  still  more  com- 
pelling, for  here  are  crowded  eighty-three 
portrait  busts  of  the  Caesars  and  their  families, 
portraits  of  such  vivid  personality  that  we 
soon  regard  them  as  acquaintances.     As  Story 


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Introduction  vii 

has  so  well  said :  Art  has  made  them  our  con- 
temporaries. Who  does  not  at  once  recognise 
the  curly-headed  IVIarcus  Aurelius  with  his 
lifted  brow  and  pro j  ecting  eyes  ?  Are  there  any 
modern  portraits  more  familiar  than  the  severe, 
wedge-like  head  of  Augustus  with  his  sharp- 
cut  lips  and  nose,  or  the  brutal  bull-head  of 
Caracalla,  or  the  bestial,  bloated  features  of 
Vitellius? 

The  prevailing  impression  of  the  lords  of 
Rome  is  of  undeniable  strength,  of  developed 
character  in  good  and  in  evil. 

So  also  the  empresses  in  their  elaborate 
coiffures  have  all  the  haunting  familiarity  of 
faces  often  seen  in  the  social  life  of  to-day. 
The  dignified  seated  statue  of  Agrippina 
the  elder,  daughter  of  Julia  and  Agrippa, 
granddaughter  of  Augustus,  and  wife  of 
Germanicus,  who,  like  her  mother  died  of 
starvation  in  exile,  is  pre-eminent  above  all 
the  rest,  as  was  her  character  in  its  ideal 
nobility. 

Very  different  is  the  face  of  her  unworthy 
daughter  Agrippina  the  younger,  wife  of 
Claudius,  who  was  murdered  by  her  son  Nero. 
A  greedy,  dissolute,  scornful  face  which  re- 
peated its  characteristics  in  her  son,  and  yet 
with  a  certain  imperious  ability,  an  incontest- 


viii  Introduction 

ably  regal  air  which  makes  us  wish  that  we 
might  read: 

"  Stern  Agrippina's  diary  and  life 
Writ  by  herself  recording  all  her  thoughts, 
Deeds,  passions,  all  the  doings  of  old  Rome." 

What  a  wonderful  art  is  this  of  the  sculp- 
tor which,  so  many  centuries  after  the  originals 
have  shrivelled  to  soft  white  ash,  brings  be- 
fore us  every  dimple  of  cheek  and  cur\'e  of 
throat,  even  the  spoiled-child-like  pout  of  the 
vain  and  foolish  Sabina;  the  subtle  trick  of 
the  flickering  smile  on  the  small  mobile  mouth 
of  poor  Poppsea,  than  whom: 

"  None  fairer  strayed  into  the  world 
Or  wandered  with  more  witchery  through  the  air." 

How  unmistakably  it  declares  the  sweet  purity 
of  Lucilla  and  the  lurid  fascination  of  the 
unscrupulous  voluptuous  Messalina, — and  how 
it  piques  our  curiosity  as  it  depicts  the  enig- 
matical rapt  gaze  of  the  younger  Faustina, 
whose  heavy-lidded  eyes  look  over  and  beyond 
us  at  who  knows  what  melancholy  vision,  but 
which  keep  their  secret  with  such  proud 
impassivity. 

How    those    reproductions    of    their    very 


Introduction  ix 

selves  illuminate  and  sometimes  contradict  the 
annalists  who  profess  to  have  given  us  the 
stories  of  their  lives.  It  is  impossible,  one  of 
the  most  accurate  of  the  historians  tells  us,  at 
this  day  to  be  perfectly  just,  when  even  in 
their  lifetime  public  opinion  was  inconceivably 
partisan.  In  every  case  after  the  reigning 
emperor  pronounced  his  wish  his  courtiers  and 
scandal-mongers  vied  with  each  other  to  ma- 
lign and  vilify  any  hated  woman,  and  the  offi- 
cial court  annalists  gathered  the  lying  scandals 
to  furnish  material  from  which  later  historians 
handed  down  the  memory  of  the  unfortunate 
to  possibly  undeserved  infamy.  There  was 
doubtless  much  that  might  have  been  said  for 
these  maligned  ladies,  could  any  champion  have 
been  found  to  take  down  the  testimony  of  the 
defendant. 

A  study  of  the  historical  facts  in  the^'case 
of  Julia,  daughter  of  Augustus,  shows  that 
quite  a  different  construction  can  be  put  upon 
them  from  that  hitherto  accepted. 

Julia,  says  Ferrero,  was  certainly  not  the 
miserable  Bacchante  of  the  scandalous  Roman 
chronicle, — and  again  everything  becomes 
clear  enough  if  one  sees  in  the  ruin  of  Julia 
a  kind  of  terrible  political  and  judicial 
blackmailing. 


X  Introduction 

Unfortunately  her  guilt  or  innocence  hangs 
in  the  balance  with  that  of  Livia.  If  the 
events  which  we  are  to  follow  in  the  second 
chapter  of  this  volume,  were  the  playing  out 
to  its  conclusion  of  a  tragedy  composed  by 
Livia,  she  was  many  times  a  murderess.  Such 
one  half  of  Rome,  the  half  who  loved  Julia, 
considered  her.  It  is  the  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem which  I  have  assumed,  giving  Livia  at  the 
same  time  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  since  au- 
thorities agree  that  it  cannot  now  be  de- 
termined just  how  far  the  course  of  events 
assisted  her  ambition  and  how  far  her  crimes 
assisted  the  course  of  events.  One  fact  is  evi- 
dent that  historians  during  the  reigns  of 
Augustus  and  of  Tiberius  to  justify  their 
sternness  to  Julia  would  vilify  her  reputation 
and  protect  that  of  Livia. 

The  poets  of  the  Augustan  Age  are  not 
negligible  in  the  briefest  review  of  this  period 
of  wonderful  achievement  and  Virgil,  Horace, 
Tibullus,  and  Ovid  are  presented  in  these 
earlier  chapters  with  a  conscientious  seeking 
for  exactitude.  Above  all,  I  have  sought  to 
portray  truthfully  the  sense  of  the  coming  of 
Christ  which  brooded  so  mysteriously  and 
powerfully  over  the  pagan  world  that  Virgil 
was  accounted  his  prophet,  and  in  the  early 


Introduction  xi 

legends  of  the  Church  St.  Paul  is  said,  as  he 
journeyed  to  Rome,  to  have  paused  at  his 
grave  and  to  have  exclaimed:  "  What  a  man 
I  could  have  made  of  you  if  I  had  not  come 
too  late ! " 

Of  the  heroines  of  the  other  chapters,  the 
character  of  Sulpicia,  the  only  Roman  poetess 
whose  work  has  come  down  to  us  is  drawn  as 
consistently  as  possible  from  her  poems,  and 
those  of  Tibullus,  if  we  admit,  as  seems  per- 
fectly possible,  that  she  was  the  Delia  of  his 
verse. 

In  the  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love  a  glimpse 
is  given  of  the  ignis  fatuus  Berenice,  who  fol- 
lowed Titus  from  Jeinisalem  and  vanished  like 
a  falling  star. 

Her  story  is  connected  with  that  of  the 
Vestal  Cornelia  by  the  atrocious  Domitian, 
who  condemned  the  innocent  woman  to  be 
buried  alive,  and  also  by  the  loving  medi- 
ation of  the  Chrstian  Princess  Flavia 
Domitilla. 

The  British  Princess  JNIorna,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, is  a  phantom  from  the  "  Ivory  Gate,"  a 
delusive  dream  having  no  corresponding  pro- 
totype, but  the  dramatis  personse  among  which 
she  moves  are  "  authentic  spectres,"  and  the 
stage-setting  is  that  given  us  by  archaeology. 


xii  Introduction 

In  the  Necklace  of  Vesta  we  find  half  of 
Rome  Christian,  the  old  religion  dethroned  is 
dying  hard  and  the  Goths  under  Alaric  swoop 
down  to  give  the  death-blow  in  the  Sack  of 
Rome.  Galla  Placidia  is  possibly  the  most 
attractive  of  all  the  empresses,  and  the  story 
of  the  love  of  the  noble  Goth  Ataulph,  one  of 
the  sweetest  of  romances,  contrasting  sharply 
with  that  *of  Attila  and  Placidia's  wild 
daughter  Honoria. 

The  Flight  of  Apollo  takes  us  back  for  a 
brief  glance  at  Agrippina,  Poppeea,  and  Faus- 
tina, the  latter  probably  as  basely  maligned  as 
Julia,  and  thus  with  many  an  unpardonable 
omission  we  have  paced  through  the  portrait 
gallery  of  the  empresses  striving  with  a  sym- 
pathetic imagination  to  guess  at  their  lives: 

"  For  of  these  lives  inlaid  with  hopes  and  fears, 
Vivid  as  fire  and  jewelled  thick  with  tears, 
Some  yet  are  good,  if  aught  be  good  to  save, 
Some  while  from  washing  wreck  and  wrecking  wave, 
Was  such  not  theirs  the  few  I  take,  and  give 
Out  of  my  life  to  make  their  dead  lives  live 
Some  days  of  mine,  and  blow  my  living  breath 
Between  dead  lips  forgotten  even  of  death  ?  " 


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3 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 


Introduction 

i.  sulpicia        .... 

II.  The  Song  of  the  Sirens  . 

III.  The  Loves  op  Horace  . 

IV.  The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love 

V.  The  Nameless  Pedestal     . 

VI.  A  Dog  of  Britain 

VII.  The  Necklace  of  Vesta    . 

VIII.  The  Flight  of  Apollo 


PAGE 

V 

3 

71 
163 
189 
255 
293 
351 
394 


XIU 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


IN    PHOTOGRAVURE 

TJie  Island  of  Death    .     Frontispiece 

From  the  painting  by  Arnold  Boecklin.  By 
permission  of  the  Photographic  Union, 
Muenchen.     {In  colour.) 

The  Woman  or  the  Vase    . 

From  the  painting  by  H.  de  Siemiradski.  By 
permission  of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Co. 

Love  in  Idleness  ..... 

From  the  painting  by  Alma  Tadema.  By  per- 
mission of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Co. 

The  Combat  of  Quails  .... 

From  the  painting  by  G.  Rochegrosse.  By  per- 
mission of  Messrs.  Manzi,  Joyant  &  Co. 

The  Mysterious  Amazon 

From  the  painting  by  Edwin  H.  Blashfield. 
By  permission  of  Mr.  Blashfield. 


Vi*.*" 


Page 


A2 


84. 


110 


23A 


XV 


XVI 


Illustrations 


Caracalla      ....,, 

From  the  painting  by  Alma  Tadema.     By  per- 
mission  of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Co. 

Ave  Ccesar,  io  Saturnalia    . 

From  the  painting  by  Alma  Tadema.    By  per- 
mission of  the  Berlin  Photographic  Co. 

The  Vestal  Tuccia       .... 

From  the  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux.     By  permis- 
sion of  Soule. 

A  Roman  Village  Pillaged  by  the  Huns 

From  the  painting  by  G.  Rochegrosse.     By  per- 
mission of  Braun,  Clement  &  Co. 


Page 

324 


326 


356 


390 


1 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


OTHER  THAN    PHOTOGRAVURE 

Sola  Rotonda,  Vatican 

Busts  of  the  Emperors  and  Empresses 

Capitoline  Museum. 

Temple  of  the  Sibyl  at  Tivoli     . 

Thusnelda   in    the    Triumph    of    Ger- 
manicus  .         .         .         .         • 

From  the  painting  by  C.  Piloty. 

The  Sibyls— Bij  Michael  Angelo  . 

Ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

The  Sibyls— By  31ichael  Angelo  . 

Ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 


Page 

vi 

•  • 

xii 


16 
28 
30 


xvu 


xviii  Illustrations 

Page 

Julia,  Daughter  of  Augustus      .         .         70 

From  a  white  carnelian  in  collection  of  Louis 
XIV.     C.  Simo7ineau  sc,  1713. 

Octavia,  Sister  of  Augustus  and  Wife 

of  Mark  Antony  .         .         .         ,         70 

The  Villa  of  Augustus  on  the  Present 

Punta  Tragara,  Capri  .         .         .       100 

Restored  by  C.  Weichardt. 

The  Pantheon  of  A  grip  pa  .         .         .104- 
Augustus      ......       lOS 

Museum  of  the  Vatican. 

The  Villa  of  Tiberius  at  Capri  .         .       158 

From  a  reconstruction  by  C.  Weichardt. 

Virgil,    Horace,    and    Varius    at    the 

House  of  31cecenas        .         .         .164- 

From  the  painting  by  Ch.  F.  Jalabert. 

Phyllis 176 

From  the  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux. 

Lesbia 182 

From  a  painting  by  Diana  Coomans. 
With  permission  of  Ad.  Braun  et  Cie. 

Dojnitian      ......       186 

Vatican  Museum. 

Colosseum  Seen  through  the  Arch  of 

Titus 204 


Illustrations  xix 

Page 

The  Bruins  of  the  Villa  of  Domitian  at 

Alhano 226 

From  an  etching  by  Piranesi. 

Cryptoimrticus     .....       228 

Gerome  with  Statue  of  a  Mirmillo  and 

Retiarius        .....       232 

A  study  for  his  "  Pollice  Verso." 

Shrine  and  Ruins  of  the  House  of 
the  Vestals — Columns  of  Temple 
of  Castor  and  PoUiuv — Roman 
Forum  ......       254- 

Supposed  Temple  of  Vesta,  near  the 

Fountain  of  the  Tritons       .         .       256 

School  of  the  Vestal  Virgins        .         .       258 

From  the  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux. 
With  permission  of  Ad.  Braun  et  Cie. 

Bas-relief  within  the  Arch  of  Titus, 
Representing  the  Seven-branched 
Candlestick  and  other  Spoils  of 
the  Hebrew  Temple     .         .         .       268 

Caracalla      ......       318 

Museum  of  the  Vatican. 


XX 


Illustrations 


The  House  of  Germanicus  {Called  also 
the  House  of  Livia) 

Plan  of  the  Palatine  . 

Domu^s  Gelotiana;  Pcedagogium  in  the 
Rear      .... 

Dying  Gaul 

Capitoline  Museum. 

Vestal  Virgins  Fleeing  from  Rome 

From  a  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux. 

The  Temple  of  Apollo 

In  Ruins  of  Hadrian's  Villa  at  Tivoli. 
From  an  etching  by  Piranesi. 

Claudius       ..... 
Messalina,  Wife  of  Claudius 
Britannicus  .... 

Museum  of  the  Lateran. 

The  Infant  Nero  .... 

Ufjizi  Gallery. 

Nero 

Uffizi  Gallery. 

Poppcea,  Second  Wife  of  Nero  . 

Jacquemin  sc. 


Pa  ye 

328 

330 


332 


350 
360 
394- 

396 
396 
398 

400 

400 
402 


Illustrations 


XXI 


Agrippina   the    Younger,   Mother   of 
Nero 

Jacqueviin  sc. 

The  Temple  of  Canopus 
Marcus  Aurelius  . 


Faustina  the  Younger,  Wife 
Aurelius 


of  Marcus 


Antinous 

Museum  of  the  Vatican. 

Bust  of  the  Young  Marcus  Aurelius 

Capitoline  Museum. 

Antoninus  Pius    .... 
Faustina  the  Elder,  Wife  of  Antoninus 
Pius      .... 

Hadrian        .... 

Museum,  of  the  Vatican. 

Plan  of  the  Villa  of  Hadrian 
Faustina       .... 

From  an  engraved  amethyst. 
Collection     of     Lord     Montague.     "  Worlidge's 
Gems." 

Lucilla,  Daughter  of  Marcus  Aurelius 

On  beryl. 

Collection  of  Lord  Bessborough.     S.  Worlidge  sc. 


Page 

402 

406 
408 

408 
410 

410 

410 

410 
412 

414 
416 


416 


xxii  Illustrations 

Page 

Ave,  Ccesar  ......       4-16 

After  the  painting  by  J.  L.  Gerome. 

CommodAis,    with    the    Attributes    of 

Hercules       .        .         .         .        .      4IS 

Rui}is  of  the  Natatojium,  possibly  the 

Pavilion  of  Faustina    .         .         .       ^22 

In  Hadrian's  Villa  at  Tivoli. 


Romance   of  Imperial   Rome 


CHAPTER  I 

SULPICIA 
I 

A  poet's  villa 

Prince,  let  us  leave  the  din,  the  dust,  the  spite, 
The   gloom    and    glare    of   towns,   the    plague,    the 
blight ; 

Amid  the  forest  leaves  and  fountain  spray 
There  is  the  mystic  house  of  our  delight, 

And  through  the  dim  wood  Dian  threads  her  way. 

Andrew  Lang,  after  Theodore  de  Banville. 

NESTLING  under  vine-garlanded  trel- 
lises the  village  of  Gallicano  straggles 
upward  to-day  toward  the  ruined  city  of 
Prgeneste,  over  the  same  pleasant  slopes  which, 
in  the  days  of  Augustus,  witnessed  the  more 
stately  procession  of  the  pergolas  of  Pedum, 
the  villa  of  the  poet-knight  Albius  Tibullus. 


4  Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

It  was  not  the  young  man's  fault  that  the 
columns  were  broken,  the  frescoes  faded,  and 
the  larger  part  of  the  once  magnificent  domain 
confiscated  by  the  Emperor, — one  of  whose 
summer-palaces  had  recently  been  erected  on 
the  portion  nearest  the  city. 

The  elder  TibuUus  had  forfeited  his  estate 
through  participation  in  the  conspiracy  of 
Brutus,  but  his  son  Albius  had  served  bravely 
as  an  officer  of  cavalry  in  Gaul,  and  for  this 
reason  his  birthplace  and  a  modest  farm  had 
been  preserved  to  him  from  the  general  wreck 
of  his  patrimonj^ 

Returning  from  the  long  Gallic  campaign 
he  determined  to  abandon  the  career  of  arms 
and  to  devote  himself  in  retirement  to  the 
gentler  pursuit  of  poetry.  As  he  approached 
his  ancestral  home,  his  heart  swelling  with  the 
rush  of  old  associations,  he  spied  from  the  high- 
way an  ancient  lichen-covered  statue  of  Ter- 
minus, which  during  his  boyhood  had  marked 
the  boundary  of  the  estate,  and  leaping  from 
his  horse  he  reverently  kissed  the  rough-hewn 
pediment  in  which  the  limbs  of  the  sylvan 
deity  were  sheathed. 

As  he  did  so  he  was  startled  by  rippling 
laughter,  and,  parting  the  boughs  of  a  thicket, 
two  young  girls  and  a  youth,  who  had  been 


-1 


TEMPLE  OF  THE   SIBYL  AT  TIVOLI 


i 


Sulpicia  5 

observing  him  with  much  amusement,  ap- 
peared suddenly  upon  the  scene. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are  trespass- 
ing on  the  grounds  of  the  Imperial  Villa?" 
the  elder  girl  asked,  and  Tibullus,  as  he  scanned 
her  bold  but  handsome  features,  knew  that  this 
was  Julia,  the  daughter  of  Augustus. 

"  Pardon,  Princess,"  he  replied,  "  but  this 
land  was  once  my  father's,  and  I  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  to  greet  this  old  god,  who 
shall  now  retreat  from  a  station  which  he  has 
no  longer  a  right  to  occupy." 

"  How  can  he  retreat  since  he  is  footless? " 
retorted  Julia.  "Let  him  rest  where  he  is; 
but,  since  you  have  feet,  come  with  us  to  the 
great  chestnut  tree  yonder  and  help  us 
open  the  burs,  for  my  fingers  are  full  of 
prickles." 

Tibullus  was  about  to  excuse  himself,  when 
Julia's  companion  spoke  eagerly.  "If  you  are 
our  neighbour  you  must  be  the  Knight  Albius 
Tibullus.  Only  last  night  my  uncle,  your  gen- 
eral, Corvinus  Messala,  pointed  out  your 
beautiful  old  villa  to  us;  and  praised  your 
valour.  This  is  his  son,  Messalinus,  and  I 
am  Sulpicia  the  daughter  of  JNIessala's  sister 
Valeria.  We  are  visiting  the  Princess  Julia, 
whom  you  have  already  recognised,  and  you 


6  Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

surely  will  not  refuse  her  request  to  aid  us  in 
our  chestnut  gathering? " 

"  No,  not  if  you  know  what  is  good  for 
yourself,"  added  Messalinus.  "  The  Princess 
is  accustomed  to  having  her  invitations  ac- 
cepted as  commands.  She  is  very  good  com- 
pany too,  so  tie  your  horse  and  come  with  us." 

Tibullus  obeyed,  but  he  allowed  INIessalinus 
to  lead  the  way  with  Julia,  and  challenged  by 
Sulpicia  to  give  his  reason  for  burying  him- 
self as  a  hermit  in  this  lonely  spot,  he  spoke 
eloquently  of  the  charms  of  a  rural  life. 

"  When  you  are  in  Rome  again,"  he  con- 
cluded, "  ask  my  friend  Horatius  Flaccus 
what  he  thinks  of  Pedum,  for  we  read  Homer 
together  here." 

"  He  told  us  of  that  visit,"  Sulpicia  replied, 
"  and  of  the  celebration  of  an  old  festival,  the 
Lustration  of  the  Fields,  when  your  white- 
robed  maidens  and  youths  paced  in  solemn 
procession  chanting  a  litany  to  Ceres  and 
Faunus.  Horace  says  that  you  and  Virgil 
are  the  last  of  the  poets  w^ho  really  believe  in 
the  old  gods." 

"Do  you  not  believe  in  them?"  Tibullus 
asked  gravely. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  replied  indifferently, 
"  but  they  appear  to  trouble  themselves  little 


Sulpicia  7 

about  me, — so  I  do  not  love  them.  Do  you 
in  reality  love  this  stupid  old  Terminus  who 
could  not,  or  would  not,  guard  your  estate 
from  usurpation?" 

"  Surely,"  he  replied,  "  and  even  the  mis- 
chievous fauns,  hut  more  the  lovely  naiads  and 
dryads  who  make  beautiful  the  portion  still 
left  to  me,  and  most  of  all  the  muses  who  keep 
me  from  loneliness." 

She  smiled  indulgently  as  though  she  were 
listening  to  the  prattle  of  a  child. 

"  I  prefer  the  society  of  mortals,"  she  re- 
plied lightly. 

"Do  you?"  he  asked.  "Then  you  have 
been  more  fortunate  than  I." 

Her  eyes  flashed  indignation.  "  Egotist," 
they  seemed  to  say,  "  do  you  fancy  yourself 
the  only  enlightened  person  in  the  world?  " 
But  she  answered  gently,  "  I  have  indeed  been 
fortunate,  but  you  may  be  even  more  so. 
Come  to  Rome  and  we  will  show  you  many 
whose  company  you  might  learn  to  prefer  to 
that  of  your  hamadryads." 

*'  Whom  have  you  in  Rome  of  whom  you 
can  make  this  boast?  " 

"  We  have  Virgil,"  she  answered — and  he 
bowed  low,  for  Virgil  was  the  man  of  all  others 
whom  he  reverenced  most.     She   smiled  tri- 


8  Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

umphantly,  knowing  that  she  had  won  her 
point. 

Was  it  possible,  he  wondered,  that  she  had 
more  wit  than  he  had  credited  to  w^omen,  that 
he  might  in  time  learn  to  enjo\^  this  girl's  light 
chatter?  It  was  quite  enough  for  the  present 
to  look  at  her.  Messalinus  marked  the  thirst  in 
his  gaze,  and  though  no  poet,  said  afterward 
that  Tibullus  drank  his  cousin  with  his  eyes. 

Sulpicia's  eyes  were  downcast,  and  her  at- 
tention was  presently  attracted  by  hoof -prints 
in  the  moist  earth  which  she  pointed  out  to 
Tibullus.  ' 

"  They  are  the  tracks  of  a  wild  boar,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Let  me  escort  you  both  to  your 
villa,  and  do  not  visit  this  spot  until  j^ou  hear 
from  me.  Fortunately  night  is  the  time  that 
wild  animals  choose  to  approach  so  near  to 
human  habitations.  I  will  return  at  dawn, 
and  if  successful,  will  send  you  the  creature's 
head." 

"  Let  me  join  j^'ou,"  exclaimed  Messalinus, 
"  I  can  bring  with  me  two  of  the  Emperor's 
Molossian  hounds." 

"  Then  take  them  around  by  the  highway 
to  the  statue  of  Terminus,"  replied  Tibullus. 
*'  I  shall  leave  my  huntsmen  there  to  rouse  the 
quarry  from  its  feast  on  the  chestnuts,  while  I 


Sulpicia  9 

cut  off  its  retreat  here  by  fastening  nets  across 
the  path,  and  so  hold  it  at  bay  until  you  come 
up  to  give  the  death-blow." 

Early  the  following  morning  as  Tibullus 
was  engaged  in  the  dim  light  in  placing  the 
toils,  he  was  startled  by  a  cautious  crackling 
of  branches  at  a  little  distance  and  had  almost 
hurled  his  spear  when  Sulpicia  stood  before 
him.     She  laughed  softly. 

"  Did  you  take  me  for  the  boar?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  Diana  preserved  you,  for  if  she  had 
not  held  my  hand  I  might  have  killed  you. 
Why  did  you  come?" 

"  The  Princess  Julia  wished  to  join  the 
hunt  and  begged  me  to  come  too,  for,  if  it 
were  discovered  that  she  had  done  so  alone, 
the  Emperor  would  be  very  angry.  For  some 
unknown  reason  he  thinks  that  everything  I 
do  is  right.  If  Julia  were  not  so  good- 
natured  she  w^ould  hate  me,  for  he  has  set  me 
up  as  a  model  for  her." 

"Where,  then,  is  the  Princess?" 

"  She  has  gone  with  my  cousin  to  the  ren- 
dezvous for  the  hounds,  but  I  preferred  to 
come  to  you.  I  wanted — to  see  you  kill  the 
boar,"  she  added  confusedly. 

"  It  is  no  sight  for  a  gentle  girl,"  he  replied 
displeased.     "  I  would  take  you  immediately 


10        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

home  were  there  time,  but  the  boar  will  soon 
be  roused  and  I  shall  be  needed  here.  You 
will  be  safe  in  this  tree,  so  have  your  way." 

He  crouched  before  her  bidding  her  stand 
upon  his  shoulders,  then  rising  to  his  full 
height  enabled  her  to  seat  herself  upon  a 
branch  which  overhung  the  trail. 

The  sun  had  not  yet  risen;  a  mysterious 
dusk  shrouded  the  forest  and  they  spoke  in 
whispers  as  he  leaned  upon  his  spear  stand- 
ing guard  beneath  her. 

"  This  is  very  exciting,"  she  said,  "  I  never 
had  such  an  adventure.  Now  surely  we  should 
hear  the  pipes  of  Pan,  the  laughter  of  the 
nymphs  fleeing  from  the  fauns,  and,  if  Diana 
ever  roams  the  woods,  the  cry  of  her  hounds 
and  the  whir  of  the  arrows  from  her  silver 
bow." 

He  did  not  reply  for  her  tone  was  one  of 
light  mockery  and  after  a  little  silence  she 
asked,  "  Is  there  any  danger? " 

"  Not  where  you  are  sitting." 

"  Then  come  and  sit  beside  me." 

He  laughed  softly,  "  You  forget  that  I  am 
here  to  hold  the  boar  at  bay." 

"  But  it  may  kill  you." 

"It  is  exactly  that  possibihty  which  gives 
zest  to  the  sport." 


Sulpicia  II 

She  shuddered  and  said  faintly,  "I  am 
afraid." 

"Of  what,  pray?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  only  know  that  I  am 

afraid." 

"  I  will  protect  you,  dear  lady;  but  do  not 
speak,  I  hear  a  sound  in  the  valley." 

It  came  again,  unmistakably  the  distant 
baying  of  the  dogs,  but  Sulpicia  at  the  same 
instant  gave  a  little  cry  of  simulated  fear. 
"  Oh!  oh!  There  is  something  up  there  in  the 
tree.  I  saw  its  eyes  gleaming.  It  is  a 
panther." 

"Impossible,    there    are    no    panthers    in 

Latium." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see  it  plainly  now.  It  is 
crouching,  preparing  to  spring.  I  am  famt 
—I  shall  fall." 

He  swung  himself  to  the  bough  on  which 
she  w^as  seated  and  with  a  whir  of  wings  a 
great  bird  flew  away. 

"  You  see  it  was  only  an  owl,"  he  said  and 
turned  to  descend,  but  she  clung  to  him  con- 
vulsively, then  relaxed  her  hold  and  lay  limp 
in  his  arms. 

At  the  same  instant  the  boar  rushed  past, 
snorting  and  struggling  furiously  as  it  en- 
tangled itself  in  the  toils. 


12         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

TibuUus  shook  the  unconscious  girl  gently, 
and  called  on  her  eagerly  to  rouse  herself;  but 
she  made  no  response. 

The  dogs  came  up,  tearing  their  way  noisily 
through  the  underbrush;  and  the  boar,  mad 
with  fear,  burst  the  net  and  was  off  like  a  tor- 
nado, its  pursuers  close  upon  its  heels.  As 
soon  as  the  uproar  had  ceased  Sulpicia  re- 
vived,— ^but  the  nei-veless  arm  which  had  lain 
so  inert  across  his  shoulder  tightened  itself 
about  his  neck,  and  she  nestled  more  closely 
to  his  breast.  "You  are  not  killed!"  she 
murmured ;  "  I  was  afraid,  not  for  myself  but 
for  you — "  Then  after  a  little  pause,  "  But 
I  have  made  you  lose  the  boar.  I  am  so 
sorry." 

Tibullus  strained  her  the  closer  to  his  wildly 
beating  heart.  "  I  do  not  care,"  he  said,  "  I 
do  not  care." 

For  many  months  thereafter  he  saw  her  no 
more — for  when  he  next  sought  the  venerable 
Terminus  he  found  it  crowned  with  a  chaplet 
of  withered  roses,  but  the  summer-palace  was 
vacant,  the  imperial  household  had  returned 
to  Rome. 

He  had  fancied  when  far  away  in  Gaul 
that  the  mere  environment  of  his  beloved  home 
would  give  him  happiness,  but  from  the  mo- 


Sulpicia  13 

ment  that  Sulpicia  awakening  in  his  emhrace 
had  yielded  her  Kps  to  his  passionate  kisses, 
an  unquenchable  flame  had  been  lighted  in 
his  soul.  He  knew  that  he  should  love  her 
while  life  should  last;  he  believed  that  under 
favouring  circumstances  she  might  love  him, 
but  this  confidence  gave  him  no  hope — an  im- 
poverished descendant  of  one  of  the  most  an- 
cient families  of  the  nobility  of  Latium,  a 
knight  whose  bravery  had  brought  him  no  ad- 
vancement, an  unknown  poet,  what  madness 
for  him  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  the  niece  of 
Messala,  the  victorious  general  and  close  friend 
of  the  Emperor. 

Doubtless  Sulpicia,  though  trapped  into 
momentary  forgetfulness  of  their  several  posi- 
tions, realised  them  now,  and  the  wreath  was 
a  farewell,  or  it  would  have  been  accompanied 
by  some  word  of  encouragement. 

He  threw  himself  into  his  literary  work, 
seeking  to  find  in  it  and  in  the  conduct  of  his 
farm  medicine  for  his  pain.  But  his  lofti- 
est elegies  were  tinged  with  a  very  human 
yearning,  as  though  a  rose  had  been  pressed 
between  the  leaves  of  a  psalter,  and  had 
coloured  the  pure  pages  with  its  own  heart's 
blood. 

With  all  his  love  he  had  little  conception 


14         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  Sulpicia's  character.  He  remembered  that 
she  had  spoken  irreverently  of  the  high  gods. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  was  touched  with  the 
scepticism  of  the  time?  He  had  no  suspicion 
that  she  possessed  poetical  genius,  possibly 
greater  than  his  own, — that  in  her  intense  way 
she  was  as  deeply  religious  as  himself, — that 
her  fervid  nature  was  crying  out  to  the  un- 
answering  heavens  for  guidance  and  sympathy, 
— that  she  shared  his  unrest,  and  in  the  loneli- 
ness of  an  uncongenial  crowd  craved  as  he 
did  comprehension  and  love. 

But  on  one  memorable  morning  a  glimpse 
of  the  truth  was  revealed  to  him.  He  was 
pacing  his  garden  in  quiet  contemplation. 
The  vine  branches  cast  flickering  shadows  on 
the  uneven  tesselated  pavement,  and  the 
rhythmic  throb  of  the  fountain  in  the  lily- 
padded  pool  beat  time  to  the  hexameters  which 
pulsed  as  musically  through  his  brain,  when 
his  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  ar- 
rival of  a  post  from  Rome  bringing  him  three 
letters. 

This  was  so  unusual  an  event  that  Tibullus 
broke  the  seals  with  a  slight  flutter  of  excite- 
ment.    The  first  was  from  Horace.^ 

"  Albius,"  he  wrote,  "  what  are  you  doing 

1  See  Epistles,  Book  I.,  4. 


Sulpicia  15 

hidden  from  the  world  by  Pedum's  green 
hedges  ? 

"  You  were  not  in  other  days  devoid  of  am- 
bition. The  gods  have  given  you  personal 
charm,  health,  friends,  fame,  and  an  unfailing 
purse. 

"  Encourage  yourself  with  the  thought  that 
your  daj^s  of  hopes  and  fears,  anxieties  and 
regrets  have  passed,  and  the  unforeseen 
hours  ar?  hastening  to  you  freighted  with 
glad  surjirise. 

"  When  you  are  ready  for  amusement  come 
to  your  friend  Horatius ;  you  will  find  him  fat 
and  flourishing,  with  a  well-groomed  hide,  a 
very  swine  in  the  sty  of  Epicurus " 

Tibullus  laid  aside  the  letter  with  an  in- 
dulgent smile. 

"  Nay,  good  friend,"  he  said,  "  I  thank  you, 
but  I  shall  not  go  to  Rome.  You  are  mis- 
taken in  your  judgment  of  me.  I  am  no 
child  of  Fortune.  I  have  neither  wealth,  nor 
renown,  nor  love;  mine  is  but  the  common  lot, 
but  I  am  content." 

As  he  spoke  he  noticed  the  seal  of  the  letter. 

"Fortune's  wheel!"  he  exclaimed;  "per- 
chance it  is  an  omen  that  my  fortune  awaits 
me  at  Rome." 

A  second  glance  convinced  him  of  his  error. 


i6         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

The  wheel  was  not  Fortune's,  for  a  griffin 
crouched  with  his  paw  upon  it.  Horace  had 
sealed  his  letter  with  an  engraved  gem  set 
in  a  ring  given  him  by  Maecenas,  a  beautiful 
but  ill-omened  trinket,  for  the  insignia  which 
it  bore  was  that  of  Nemesis,  the  jealous  god- 
dess, who  in  her  car  drawn  by  griffins  rushes 
to  wreak  vengeance  upon  those  whose  happi- 
ness approaches  that  of  the  immortals. 

"  Nemesis,"  murmured  Tibullus;  "but  why 
should  she  seek  me  out?  In  my  obscurity  I 
am  at  least  safe  from  the  envy  of  gods  and 


men." 


But  as  he  rapidly  read  his  second  letter, 
surprise  and  gratification  showed  themselves 
in  his  mobile  face.  Messala  wrote  that  Au- 
gustus had  awarded  his  favourite  general  a 
"  Triumph,"  in  recognition  of  his  successful 
campaign  in  Gaul.  A  poem  would  be  read 
to  the  assembled  multitude,  and — here  was  the 
motive  of  his  present  writing — the  choice  of 
the  poet  had  been  left  to  Messala,  and  he  had 
named  Tibullus. 

"Not  without  thee,  my  trusty  knight," 
WTote  the  general,  "did  I  win  this  great 
honour.  Not  without  thee  did  I  batter  down 
those  fortresses  and  beat  the  barbarians;  nor 
will  I  accept  my  laurels  from  the  hand  of 


05 
O 

z 
< 

o:  >. 
uj  ^ 
O    ^ 

li.  S 


be 

c 


X 
Q. 


a: 
H 

I 
1- 


o 

■*    til 

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z 

CO 

r 


Sulpicia  17 

Augustus  unless  he  at  the  same  time  crown 
thee  with  the  poet's  bays.  Sharer  of  my 
hardships,  share  also  my  renown." 

"Shall  I  go?"  Tibullus  asked  himself, 
tempted  yet  shrinking.  "  This  third  letter, 
if  it  bears  upon  the  matter,  shall  decide." 

Then  the  hot  blood  rushed  to  his  cheek,  for 
he  read: 

"  My  uncle  bids  you  come,  and,  if  she  had 
any  influence  with  you,  so  would — Sulpicia." 

II 

THE  TRIUMPH 

A  sense  of  something  coming  on  the  world, 
A  crying  of  dead  prophets  from  their  tombs, 
A  singing  of  dead  poets  from  their  graves. 

•  •••••• 

A  child  that  is  to  sit  where  I  am  sitting; — 

And  he  shall  charm  and  soothe,  and  breathe  and 

bless. 
The  roaring  of  war  shall  cease  upon  the  air, 
Falling  of  tears  and  all  the  voices  of  sorrow, 
And  he  shall  take  the  terror  from  the  grave, 
And  he  shall  still  that  old  sob  of  the  sea 
And  heal  the  unhappy  fancies  of  the  wind, 
And  turn  the  moon  from  all  that  hopeless  quest ; 
Trees  without  care  shall  blossom  and  all  the  fields 
Shall  without  labour  unto  harvest  come. 
A  gentle  sovereign.     Ah,  might  there  not  be 


1 8         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Some  power  in  gentleness  we  dream  not  of? 
Gadias.     A  somewhat  sudden  change  of  policy, 
It  has  not  been  our  way. 

Stephen  Phillips. 

All  Rome  was  out  for  the  great  holiday. 
Throughout  its  entire  length  the  Sacred 
Way  was  garlanded  and  hung  with  brilliant 
tapestries.  Every  temple  was  open,  and 
priests  in  full  regalia  were  feeding  the  altar 
flames  with  incense.  The  populace  in  their 
gayest  attire,  wearing  wreaths  and  waving 
branches  of  laurel,  bordered  the  route  of  the 
procession,  forming  a  parti-coloured  frieze 
against  the  white  beauty  of  the  temple  colon- 
nades. Sulpicia,  who  sat  with  the  family  of 
Augustus  in  the  pavilion  which  had  been 
erected  in  the  Forum  as  the  Emperor's  receiv- 
ing stand,  had  watched  for  eight  long  hours 
the  unrolling  of  the  pompous  pageant. 

The  parade  had  started  at  daybreak  from 
the  Campus  Martins,  entering  the  city  by  the 
Porta  Triumphalis  where  it  had  been  met  and 
headed  by  the  entire  body  of  the  Senate,  ar- 
rayed in  their  white  togas  bordered  with  pur- 
ple. After  the  Conscript  Fathers  had  come 
the  trumpeters,  filling  the  air  with  fierce  mili- 
tary music,  the  overture  to  the  rare  spectacle, 
whose  first  scene  was  a  succession  of  floats  on 


Sulpicia  19 

which  were   erected  models   of   the   captured 
cities. 

Narbonne,  with  a  reproduction  of  the  tri- 
umphal arch  erected  in  honour  of  Augustus, 
Carcassonne  with  its  huge  walls  breached  by 
Roman  battering-rams,  Tarbes,  with  its  back- 
ground of  Pyrenean  ranges  painted  in  pano- 
rama, the  temple  of  Toulouse  with  its  rifled 
treasure-tanks,  and  the  towers  of  many  a  for- 
gotten city  of  Aquitania,  tottered  by  on  their 
lumbering  platforms.  They  were  regarded  witK 
curiosity  and  hailed  with  occasional  applause, 
which  woke  into  wild  enthusiasm  as  the  cry 
"The  spoils!  the  spoils!"  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  jangling  vans  laden  with  plunder 
of  every  description.  Cart-load  after  cart- 
load of  arms  stripped  from  the  dead  after  the 
great  battle  of  Atax,  pikes  and  javelins,  bows, 
arrows,  and  swords  and  stone-headed  axes, 
hide-covered,  nail-bossed  shields,  bucklers  and 
helms,  with  the  trappings  of  horses,  and  camp 
equipage  clattered  along  the  mighty  paved 
way,  amid  the  reiterated  shouts  of  near  and 
distant  spectators  which  blended  in  one  con- 
tinuous roar.  This  applause  was  lulled  into 
reverent  silence  by  an  interlude  of  flutes  which 
prepared  the  beholders  for  the  second  scene 
in  the  drama,  the  procession  of  priests  leading 


20         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  sacrificial  victims, — white  bulls  with  gilded 
horns,  followed  by  votaries  bearing  the  sacred 
effigies  and  the  golden  vessels  of  the  sanctu- 
aries. 

Again  the  surge  of  human  voices  rose  as 
the  wild  beasts  peculiar  to  the  conquered  coun- 
try were  exhibited  as  in  the  parade  of  a  modern 
circus.  This  feature  of  the  spectacle  had  al- 
ways been  popular.  Julius  Ceesar  had  shown 
the  people  of  Rome  a  herd  of  forty  elephants, 
and  Augustus,  following  his  Egyptian  cam- 
paign, had  exhibited  rhinoceroses  and  hippo- 
potami. The  fauna  of  Gaul  furnished  huge 
bears  from  the  Pyrenees,  stags  and  deer  from 
Aquitania,  and  wolves  and  boars  in  cages 
from  the  vicinity  of  the  Loire  with  equally 
powerful  hunting  dogs  led  in  leash.  After 
the  wild  animals  were  led  the  horses  of  the 
defeated  foes,  and  litters  followed  heaped 
with  their  personal  treasures:  silver  vessels 
filled  with  coins,  necklaces  of  gems,  crowns, 
chains,  armlets,  and  collars  of  gold,  with  belts 
and  baldrics,  carved  hunting  horns,  and  robes 
of  costly  fur. 

And  now  the  cries  of  "  lo  triumphe! "  were 
a  veritable  explosion  as  the  captives,  blond, 
long-tressed  men  of  giant  frame,  whose 
golden    collars   testified   to    their   high    rank, 


Sulpicia  21 

marched  past  with  manacled  arms,  but  with 
heads  scornfully  thrown  back  and  eyes  flash- 
ing defiance  upon  their  captors.  There  were 
aged  bards  among  them  carrying  their  harps, 
white-bearded  Druid  priests,  their  hoary  locks 
bound  with  holly  and  mistletoe,  and  even 
noble  women  whose  hearts  were  furnaces  of 
hate  but  who  walked  as  haughtily  as  Thus- 
nelda  in  the  Triumph  of  Germanicus  or 
Zenobia  in  that  of  Aurelian,  and  as  Cleopatra 
would  not  walk,  preferring  death  to  such 
indignity. 

Immediately  following  the  captives  the 
lictors  bearing  their  fasces  and  dancing  lute- 
players  heralded  the  culminating  feature  of 
the  pageant,  the  approach  of  the  veterans,  and 
the  ivory  quadriga  on  which,  clad  in  purple 
and  gold,  and  crowned  with  laurel,  was  en- 
throned the  hero  of  the  day.  At  Messala's 
side,  guiding  the  four  white  horses  harnessed 
abreast,  stood  the  young  laureate  Albius 
Tibullus;  and  the  colour  rushed  to  Sulpicia's 
face  as,  handing  the  reins  to  an  assisting 
charioteer,  he  approached  the  footstool  of  the 
Emperor  and  began  to  intone  his  Triumphal 
Ode. 

The  tumult  in  her  heart  distracted  her  at- 
tention from  the  utterances  of  the  poet,  but 


22         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

there  were  certain  stanzas  which  sung  them- 
selves into  her  brain,  and  long  afterward  she 
found  herself  repeating  his  description  of  the 
march  of  the  victorious  Romans: 

With  the  force  of  the  snow-swollen  torrent 

Leaping  down  from  the  high   Pyrenees, 
Where  Garonne's  irresistible  current 

Sweeps  the  plain  on  its  way  to  the  seas, 
So  our  cohorts  rushed  down   from  the  mountains 

That  form  the  strong  bulwarks  of  Spain, 
And  forded  Dordogne,  whose  fair  fountains 

Bedew  Aquitaine. 
But  it  was  not  for  conquest  or  glory 

That  we  battered  and  breached  the  huge  walls, 
Por  our  loved  ones,  for  ancestors  hoary, 

We  clove  those  barbarian  Gauls. 
So  we  swept  as  did  Caesar's  brave  legions 

Like  a  tempest  of  hail  and  of  rain. 
They  remembered  our  swords  in  those  regions, 

And  fled  once  again. 


*t>* 


At  this  point  the  eyes  of  the  poet  had  found 
hers  and  she  heard  no  more,  not  even  the 
peroration  lauding  her  uncle's  donation  of  his 
share  of  the  spoils  to  the  public  weal: 

Though  no  sports  soil  to-day  the  arena, 
Yet  with  treasure  untold  he  has  come, 

And  he  paves  the  long  Via  Latina 
Which  binds  ancient  Alba  to  Rome, 


' 


Sulpicia  23 

And  the  humblest  Campanian  peasant 

Who  from  market  plods  home  through  the  rain, 
For  this  road  which  his  worn  feet  find  pleasant 

Shall  bless  him  again! 

With  the  conchiding  words,  the  poet  was 
at  her  side.  The  Emperor  was  asking  where 
he  should  send  the  laureate's  prize,  but 
Tibullus  did  not  hear.  All  his  soul  was 
centred  on  the  revelation  which  had  come  to 
him  in  Sulpicia's  rapt  gaze.  It  was  Messala 
who  with  monitory  hand  upon  his  arm  replied, 
"  Sire,  let  the  poet  find  his  prize  at  my 
house." 

Tibullus  bowed  low.  "  I  had  not  hoped  for 
a  prize,"  he  stammered,  "  but  I  shall  thank 
the  gods  all  my  life " 

The  Emperor  swept  by  him  to  take  his  seat 
by  the  side  of  JNIessala  in  the  triumj^hal  car 
and  Tibullus  with  a  glance  at  Sulpicia  com- 
pleted his  sentence — "  if  only  I  find  you." 

The  legions,  who  claimed  Tibullus  as  their 
comrade-in-arms,  closed  in  around  him  cheer- 
ing, shouting,  singing,  and  beating  time  upon 
their  shields  or  clashing  them  against  those 
of  their  neighbours  like  cymbals  as  they  es- 
corted their  general  and  their  poet  to  the  temple 
of  Jove  upon  the  Capitoline  Hill.  Here  JNIes- 
sala  would  lay  his  golden  laurel  wreath  upon 


24         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  knees  of  the  statue,  and  here  the  more  dis- 
tinguished personages  were  to  partake  of  a 
banquet  while  all  others  would  feast  at  the 
expense  of  Messala  at  tables  spread  in  the 
Forum. 

Valeria,  the  mother  of  Sulpicia,  had  felt  her- 
self exalted  to  the  skies  by  the  honours  done 
her  brother  but  she  uttered  an  exclamation  and 
turned  pale  as  the  quadriga  passed.  "  See, 
see,"  she  cried,  "  they  have  forgotten  to  fasten 
beneath  the  chariot  the  little  bell  and  the 
scourge  to  protect  it  from  Nemesis."  Unseen 
but  implacable  she  ever  dogs  the  footsteps  of 
those  who  call  themselves  supremely  happy 
until  she  has  punished  them  for  their  pre- 
sumption. 

"  Fear  not,  my  mother,"  Sulpicia  replied. 
"  My  uncle  still  sighs  for  other  lands  to  con- 
quer. I  doubt  if  there  lives  any  mortal  who 
is  perfectly  happy,"  but  her  heart  told  her 
that  happiness  for  herself  and  Tibullus  de- 
pended only  upon  her  own  resolution,  and  she 
besought  the  Fates  to  visit  some  minor  mis- 
fortune upon  him,  that  so  the  anger  of  the 
avenging  goddess  might  be  averted. 

Sulpicia  waited  long  in  her  uncle's  palace 
and  Messala  came  at  last,  accompanied  by 
Tibullus  and  other  friends — prominent  among 


Sulpicia  25 

whom  was  Virgil,  who,  unenvious  of  the 
younger  poet's  bays,  had  kissed  his  forehead 
at  the  conclusion  of  his  declamation. 

The  Emperor's  gift  had  arrived,  a  vase  ex- 
quisitely carved  in  oriental  lands  from  the 
costly,  mysterious  stone  called  murra,  whose 
identity  has  not  been  established  by  anti- 
quarians, but  which  may  possibly  have  been 
jade. 

Sulpicia  presented  the  prize  to  the  poet,  who 
received  it  as  he  had  the  announcement  of  the 
gift,  with  little  interest,  striving  to  read  again 
in  the  downcast  eyes  the  message  flashed  to 
him  from  the  Emperor's  pavilion. 

The  company  vociferated  their  admiration, 
and  Pomponius  Crassus,  a  wealthy  connois- 
seur and  collector  of  all  beautiful  objects,  not 
excepting  women,  gazed  enviously  at  the  mur- 
rine  vase,  exclaiming,  "  By  Hercules,  it  is 
worth  a  king's  ransom,  and  I  will  give  thee 
thy  price  if  thou  hast  a  mind  to  sell  it." 

Indignation  flushed  Sulpicia's  face.  "Pom- 
ponius has  yet  to  learn,"  she  said  coldly,  "  that 
there  are  some  things  which  cannot  be  bought." 
The  rebuke  had  a  double  sting  for  it  was  well 
known  that  the  aged  voluptuary  was  a  suitor 
for  Sulpicia's  hand,  and  favoured  by  the 
avaricious  Valeria. 


26         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  What  is  not  for  sale  is  often  given  away," 
said  Messala  quickly  to  cover  his  friend's  con- 
fusion, "  and  I  have  such  a  gift  in  mind  for 
Tibullus.  One  of  the  fifteen  guardians  of  the 
Sibjdline  prophecies  is  dying.  The  Emperor 
names  his  successor,  and  I  shall  crave  the  post 
for  our  poet." 

Pomponius  scowled,  and  his  gross  face  grew 
still  more  repulsive.  "  A  sinecure,"  he  cried, 
"  for  though  the  office  is  sacerdotal  you  will 
be  bound  by  no  irksome  vows,  and  may  marry 
into  the  highest  family,  even  that  of  the  Em- 
peror. You  w  ill  have  a  villa  at  Tivoli  by  the 
side  of  the  charming  temple  of  the  Sibyl  and 
a  house  upon  the  Palatine  near  the  temple  of 
Apollo.  Your  duties  will  be  nominal,  simply 
to  read  over  the  prophecies  and  to  give  them 
whatever  interpretation  pleases  you.  Think 
of  the  opportunities  for  gain  when  authority 
is  desired  for  questionable  procedures.  Your 
future  is  assured  and  you  have  my  con- 
gratulations." 

"  I  have  no  wdsh  for  a  sinecure,"  Tibullus 
replied  flushing,  "  nor  have  I  qualifications  to 
reap  the  benefits  which  you  suggest.  I  would 
prefer  some  less  brilliant  place,  where  I  could 
in  reality  serve  my  age." 

"And  you  will  find  such  an  opportunity 


Sulpicia  27 

in  this  post,"  said  Virgil.  "  Many  spurious 
auguries  have  crept  in,  many  doubtful  ones 
are  now  in  popular  circulation  in  Rome — 
brought  back  by  the  army  from  its  last  cam- 
paign in  Syria.  There  is  one  oracle  attributed 
to  the  Cumasan  Sibyl  which  is  of  tremendous 
portent  but  which  is  not  yet  admitted  to  the 
authorised  collection. 

"  It  foretells  the  coming  of  a  babe  who  shall 
reign  as  such  a  great  king  that  from  his  birth 
the  course  of  the  world  will  begin  anew.  Au- 
gustus is  anxious  that  all  the  prophecies  should 
be  thoroughly  weighed  and  revised,  and  their 
signification  announced.  For  this  service  you 
are  peculiarly  adapted,  by  deep  reverence  and 
genius.  I  beg  of  you  to  accept  it  for  the 
time  foretold  is  at  hand." 

An  expression  of  awe  shadowed  the  young 
man's  face. 

"  Can  mortal  man  be  equal  to  such  respon- 
sibilities?" he  asked. 

"  Nay,"  replied  Virgil,  "  but  poets  are  in- 
spired by  the  immortals.  I  myself  have  writ- 
ten verses  not  of  my  own  imagining,  which 
I  have  felt  to  be  an  influx  from  some 
deity." 

"  Dear  Master,"  besought  Sulpicia,  "  will 
you  not  recite  for  us  the  prophecy  of  Hero- 


28         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

phile  the  Cumaan  Sibyl."  And  Virgil,  urged 
by  all,  repeated  the  remarkable  lines  which 
were  regarded  by  the  early  Christian  Church 
as  prophetic  of  the  coming  of  Christ  ^ : 

"  So  the  last  age  of  Cumse's  seer  has  come, 
Again  the  great  millennial  seen  dawns, 
.  .  .  and  from  high  heaven  descends 
The  first-born  child  of  promise. 
The  age  of  iron  in  his  time  shall  cease 
And  golden  generations  fill  the  world. 
For  the  child's  birth-right  is  the  life  of  gods, 
He  rules  a  world  his  sire  has  blessed  with  peace. 
For  thee,  fair  child,  the  lavish  earth  shall  spread 
Thy  earliest  playthings,  trailing  ivy  wreaths 
And  foxgloves  red  and  cups  of  water-lilies 
And  wild  acanthus  leaves  with  sunshine  stored. 

"  At  last  when  stronger  years  have  made  the  man, 
The  voyager  will  cease  to  vex  the  sea, 
Nor  ships  of  pine  wood  longer  serve  in  traffic, 
For  every  fruit  shall  grow  in  every  land. 
The  field  shall  thrive  unharrowed,  vines  unpruned, 
And  stalwart  ploughmen  leave  their  oxen  free. 
Come  thou  dear  child  of  gods,  Jove's  mighty  heir, 
Begin  thy  high  career:  the  hour  is  sounding; 
See,  in  the  dawning  of  a  new  creation 
The  heart  of  all  things  living  throbs  with  joy! 
Oh :  if  but  life  would  bring  me  days  enough 
And  breath  not  all  too  scant  to  sing  thy  deeds; 

1 "  .  .  .  Dies  ilia   Teste  David  cum  Sibylla." 


LU 
O 

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Ui 

< 

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U 


>-    ^ 


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UJ 

I 


Sulpicia  29 

Not  Thracian  Orpheus  should  outdo  the  chant 
Nor  beautiful  Apollo,  lord  of  song."  1 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  little  company, 
broken  at  last  by  Tibullus,  who,  greatly  moved, 
exclaimed : 

"  It  may  be  that  induction  into  the  sacred 
office  will  in  itself  confer  the  needed  insight. 
It  is  true  that  at  certain  moments  of  exalta- 
tion, when  sacrificing  according  to  the  ritual 
for  my  household,  I  have  felt  myself  uplifted  ' 
and  the  gods  very  near.  As  a  child,  too,  I 
heard  mysterious  voices,  and  my  mother  was 
convinced  that  they  talked  with  me  in  the 
woods  and  that  I  was  destined  to  great  things. 
If  this  honour  is  conferred  upon  me  I  shall 
hold  myself  like  the  pipes  of  Pan  open  and 
responsive  to  the  breathings  of  the  gods." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,"  exclaimed  Messala 
joyously,  "you  shall  remain  here.  If  you  re- 
quire occupation  you  shall  teach  my  niece 
Sulpicia.  She  also  writes  poems.  I  caught 
her  in  the  act  one  day  and  captured  the  manu- 
script. It  was  a  description  of  a  boar-hunt, 
not  bad  for  a  girl  who  had  never  seen  one, 
mingled  with  romantic  nonsense  about  an  ideal 
lover,    Cerinthus,    saved    from    the    death    of 

1  Translated  by  R.  S.  Conway  and  Miss  F.  E.  Berar. 


30         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Adonis  by  her  own  blandishments.  All  purely 
imaginary  she  assures  me.  Our  friend  Vir- 
gil declares  that  a  girl  with  such  fictional 
ability  combined  wath  her  trick  of  rhyming 
needs  teaching  alone  to  become  a  second 
Sapho." 

^lessalinus  gave  a  low  whistle  and  regarded 
Tibullus  with  a  peculiarly  knowing  look.  He 
in  turn  scanned  Sulpicia's  flaming  face  trans- 
ported by  this  confirmation  of  his  hopes.  "  To 
write  one  should  first  have  read  much,"  he  said, 
schooling  his  voice  to  a  calmness  he  was  far 
from  possessing.  "  Who  is  your  master  in 
this  fascinating  art?  " 

The  others  had  turned  aside  and  her  answer 
w^as  so  low  that  only  Tibullus  heard. 

"  INIy  master  is  Love  and  the  only  poems 
that  I  read  are  yours." 

Ill 

NEMESIS  MENACES 

If  love  requited  gives  thee  happiness 

And  fills  with  music  sweet  the  silent  night, — 

Beware  the  joyous  smile  and  soft  caress. 
Lurking  behind  that  semblance  of  delight, 

Nemesis  croucheth.     Surely  soon  or  late 

She  wreaks  her  vengeance  on  the  fortunate. 

Fr^re  Champney. 


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Sulpicia  31 

Charmed  days  now  dawned  for  Tibullus  in 
the  palace  upon  the  Palatine,  and  the  joy  in  his 
heart  as  he  found  his  love  returned  sang  itself 
incessantly  in  melodious  lays,  which  have  out- 
lived the  centuries  and  tell  us  to-day  the  story 
of  his  love. 

Only  one  of  these  is  frankly  addressed  to 
Sulpicia.  It  is  more  playful  than  the  rest,  ques- 
tioning whether  she  was  more  beautiful  as  he 
first  saw  her  in  the  villa  garden,  dressed  in 
simple  white  with  wind-blown  hair,  or  as  she  sat 
in  the  Emperor's  box  on  the  day  of  her  uncle's 
triumph,  royallj^  robed  in  purple,  her 'delicate 
head  well-nigh  crushed  by  the  elaborate  tower- 
like coiffure  of  golden  braids  coiled  one  upon 
another. 

Even  such  light  compliment  as  this  was  not 
acceptable  to  Sulpicia's  mother,  the  ambitious 
Valeria,  who  as  we  know  had  fixed  upon  the 
wealthy  Pomponius  Crassus  as  her  desired  son- 
in-law,  and  of  her  opposition  to  his  suit  Tibul- 
lus was  quickly  informed. 

But  when  the  book-sellers  clamoured  for 
his  verse  he  found  that  he  could  write  upon 
but  one  theme,  and  he  chose  for  his  beloved 
the  pseudonym  Delia  and  continued  to  pour 
forth  his  love  with  increasing  intensity  of 
feeling. 


32         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Sulpicia  also,  while  rebelling  against  con- 
cealment, recognised  its  necessity  until  the 
preferment  promised  her  lover  should  give 
him  prestige  in  her  mother's  eyes. 

The  first  of  her  poems  in  the  correspond- 
ence strikes  a  key-note  of  deep  seriousness. 
Upon  the  festival  of  the  INIatronalia  when 
young  girls  reaching  womanly  estate  were 
accustomed  to  beseech  the  great  mother-god- 
dess for  the  husband  of  their  choice,  Valeria 
had  taken  her  daughter  to  the  temple  and  had 
dictated  a  prayer  that  Juno  would  bless  her 
marriage  with  Crassus.  But  Sulpicia  was 
silent,  while  in  her  heart  she  repeated  her  true 
prayer : 

My  hearths  desire  by  coward  lips  unspoken 

Great  goddess  hear,  as  from  thy  altar  fire 

The  smoke  ascends  whose  soaring  wreaths  betoken 

My   heart's   desire. 
To  honour  thee  I  've  donned  my  best  attire, 
And  bring  thy  cakes  upon  a  salver  oaken. 
Thou,  who  hast  loved,  vouchsafe  the  aid  invoken, 
Let  not  the  vows  which  love  has  made  be  broken 
But  grant  when  next  thy  festal  flames  aspire 
By  wedded  lips  all  unabashed  be  spoken 

My  heart's  desire. 

So  the  days  drifted  by  filled  to  the  brim 
for  each  with  happiness,  in  spite  of  the  little 


Sulpicia  33 

subterfuges  to  which  they  were  compelled  to 
resort  to  foil  the  suspicions  of  a  designing 
mother. 

The  gate  which  Tibullus  addresses  in  one 
of  his  poems,  half-hidden  by  an  abutment, 
opened  at  the  foot  of  the  Palatine  upon  a 
narrow  staircase  leading  to  the  spinning  and 
weaving  rooms  in  the  outbuildings  of  the 
palace.  This  work  was  presided  over  by  Sul- 
picia's  aged  nurse,  who  was  dotingly  devoted  to 
her  service,  and  suddenly  Sulpicia  developed 
a  great  interest  in  the  housewifely  crafts,  and 
especially  in  filling  her  marriage-chest  with 
linen  of  her  own  weaving. 

Often  the  work  was  kept  up  until  late  at 
night,  and  the  nurse  would  rehearse  some  old 
legend  in  droning  tones  which  would  lull  the 
tired  weavers  until  their  heads  drooped  and 
they  slept  at  their  looms.  All  but  Sulpicia, 
who  with  ear  pricked  listened  for  a  whistle 
in  the  street  below  and  loosing  her  noisy 
sandals  sped  down  the  winding  stair  to  unbolt 
the  gate  for  her  lover.  Then,  if  a  step  were 
heard  in  the  court  which  separated  the  weaving 
rooms  from  the  palace,  the  watchful  nurse 
wakened  the  maidens  and  the  clatter  of  the 
looms  brought  Sulpicia  to  her  place  again  and 
Tibullus  slipped  into  the  street. 


34         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Long  afterward,  tortured  in  mind  and  body, 
and,  as  he  believed,  dying,  Tibullus  refers  to 
those  stolen  meetings  as  the  happiest  moments 
of  his  life. 

For  such  an  intense  nature  as  Sulpicia's  the 
path  of  true  love  could  not  always  run  smooth. 
Jealousy  was  the  black  drop  in  her  blood,  and 
there  came  a  day  when  even  the  perfect  loyalty 
of  her  lover  was  not  proof  against  its  poison. 

She  loved  him  utterly,  and  demanded  the 
same  devotion  on  his  part,  and  Tibullus,  know- 
ing the  singleness  of  his  own  love  as  well  as 
of  hers,  asked  himself  one  evening  if  the  im- 
mortal gods  themselves  could  be  happier  than 
he,  and  with  that  question  Nemesis  came. 

He  would  never  forget  the  place  or  the 
hour.  All  of  Rome  that  loved  a  lover  was 
agog  as  to  the  identity  of  the  woman  who 
could  inspire  such  devotion  as  was  expressed 
in  the  poems  to  Delia,  and  Horace  had  made 
a  wager  that  he  would  not  only  discover  the 
mysterious  lady,  but  would  make  Tibullus 
confess  her  name  at  a  revel  of  wine  and  roses. 
Unconscious  of  the  pitfall  prepared  for  him 
Tibullus  had  at  last  consented  to  attend  a 
banquet  given  by  his  friend  in  his  honour — to 
which  w^ere  invited  not  only  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  of  Rome,  but  many   of  the 


Sulpicia  35 

beautiful  women  whom  the  gay  amourist  has 
celebrated  in  his  odes.  Next  to  Tibullus  his 
host  had  seated  the  most  fascinating  of  them 
all,  the  Thracian  dancer  Glycera,  with  whose 
"  pretty,  pert,  provoking  ways  and  face  too 
fatal-fair  to  see,"  Horace  was  for  the  moment 
in  love. 

She  had  but  lately  appeared  in  Rome,  and 
her  grace  and  beauty  had  captured  the  city; 
no  entertainment  of  any  pretension  was  com- 
plete without  her  appearance  and  the  enor- 
mous sums  commanded  by  her  dancing  gave 
colour  to  her  pretensions  that  her  life  of  ele- 
gance was  honestly  earned.  No  accepted  lover 
had  as  yet  been  discovered — even  Horace  la- 
mented her  hardness  of  heart ;  but  gossip  could 
not  credit  her  apparent  virtue  and  hinted  a 
mysterious  patron  in  the  background. 

Tibullus  started  and  frowned  slightly  when 
presented  to  her,  and  yet  he  could  not  have 
said  that  he  had  ever  seen  a  more  regal  woman. 
Sulpicia  herself  in  her  pure  blond  beauty  paled 
before  this  dazzling  creature.  Even  so,  he 
thought,  Phryne  must  have  looked  when  Praxi- 
teles chose  her  as  model  for  his  Aphrodite. 

The  dead  black  of  her  hair  contrasted  with 
the  wonderful  whiteness  of  her  perfect  form, 
which  was  further  intensified  by  shadows  of 


36         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

peacock  blue  and  green  cast  by  the  filmy 
spangled  robe,  whose  diaphanous  texture 
tinged  but  did  not  conceal  its  lovely  contours. 
Pendent  sapphires  falling  from  an  Egyptian 
gorget  slipped  and  sparkled  and  played  hide- 
and-seek  beneath  its  folds,  which  were  caught 
by  a  belt  of  corroded  copper,  bossed  with 
malachite. 

Reading  disapproval  in  the  face  of  Tibullus 
the  girl  flushed  painfully  and  drew  a  gauzy 
scarf  across  her  breast,  her  eyes  falling  in  what 
seemed  to  the  obser\^ers  a  clever  pretence  of 
maidenly  modestv.  Only  Horace  who  sat 
nearest  overheard  Tibullus  say  to  the  girl,  "  I 
had  not  counted  on  meeting  you  again  in 
Rome.  You  promised  to  return  to  j'Our 
home." 

"  I  could  not,"  she  replied. 

"  Could  not?  I  provided  you  with  the 
means." 

"  I  could  not,"  she  insisted.  ''  You  were 
here." 

Horace  laughed  gaily.  "  You  have  met 
before?"  he  asked.  Tibullus  was  silent  but 
Pomponius  Crassus,  who  watched  him  from 
across  the  table,  replied  with  a  malicious  sneer, 
"  And  I  could  tell  where  and  when  if  so  I 
chose." 


Sulpicia  37 

"  None  shall  tell  his  friend's  secrets  here," 
cried  Horace  quickly,  "  but  each  shall  con- 
fess his  own.  Let  the  toast  be,  Our  True 
Loves,  and  as  the  cup  goes  round  each  must 
name  his  lady.  I  set  the  example — and  drink 
to  Glycera  for  whose  love  I  vainly  burn." 

Acclamations  and  merriment  greeted  each 
declaration.  The  turn  of  Tibullus  came  last, 
and  Horace  challenging  him  to  give  the  true 
name  of  Delia  the  company  cried  in  unison, 
"Delia!  Delia!"  and  eagerly  invited  the  re- 
velation of  the  identity  of  the  heroine  of  the 
poems  which  had  made  their  author  famous. 

"What,  silent,  Albius?"  cried  the  host; 
"  your  taste  was  ever  correct,  so  there  can  be 
no  cause  to  blush  for  the  lady.  We  guess 
her  name  already,  shall  I  announce  it  for 
you?" 

"  Quick,  quick,"  whispered  Glycera,  throw- 
ing her  arm  about  the  neck  of  Tibullus;  "  if 
you  would  not  have  her  name  bandied  about 
by  men  like  these,  say — that  I  am  Delia." 

She  had  gradually  raised  her  voice  and  those 
near  catching  the  last  words  shouted,  "  Glycera 
is  Delia;  Glycera  is  Delia!  "  drowning  the  pro- 
testations of  the  poet  in  congratulations  and 
applause. 

Even  Horace  concealed  his  vexation  under 


38         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

gay  banter.  "  We  are  rivals  it  seems,"  he 
said  to  Tibullus.  "  See,  she  wears  my  ring, 
an  ill-omened  thing  for  it  bears  the  insignia 
of  a  goddess  who  will  not  tolerate  human  hap- 
piness. Show  it  to  him,  Glycera,  and  let  him 
take  warning,  and  meantime  sing  us  that  old 
Greek  song,  '  If  love  requited  gives  thee  hap- 
piness.' " 

Glycera  placed  her  hand  on  that  of  Tibullus 
under  pretence  of  allowing  him  to  examine  the 
ring,  and  while  her  voice  thrilled  with  the  weird 
music,  half  menace,  half  broken-hearted  wail, 
he  studied  the  signet,  and  with  a  vague  sen- 
sation of  impending  evil  recognised  the  device 
with  M'hich  Horace  had  sealed  the  letter  in- 
viting him  to  Rome — the  griffin-sped  wheel 
of  Nemesis. 

Pomponius  Crassus  left  the  banquet  at  this 
juncture  and  ordered  his  litter-bearers  to  con- 
vey him  with  all  speed  to  the  house  of  Mes- 
sala.  He  had  not  prospered  in  his  wooing  of 
Sulpicia.  Only  the  day  before  this  as  he 
pressed  his  suit  she  had  admitted  that  she  loved 
another,  and  though  she  would  not  name  his 
rival  he  believed  that  it  was  Tibullus.  What 
he  had  just  heard  revived  his  hopes  and  he 
lost  no  time  in  reporting  the  scene  to 
Sulpicia. 


Sulpicia  39 

She  was  in  the  garden  with  her  niother  but 
attempted  to  retire  as  he  entered.  "  Stay, 
stay,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  news  that  will  in- 
terest j^ou,  great  news  of  our  young  genius, 
your  uncle's  protege.  I  come  from  a  revel 
given  by  Horatius  Flaccus,  at  which  after 
toasts  were  drunk  to  each  of  the  nine  muses 
our  host  insisted  that  each  guest  should  pledge 
his  mistress.  When  the  cup  reached  Tibullus 
the  cry  was  for  the  true  name  of  Delia." 
Pomponius  paused  and  looked  searchingly  at 
Sulpicia  who  crimsoned  under  his  gaze — but 
replied  bravely,  "  And  to  your  disappoint- 
ment he  was  silent.  You  might  have  known 
that  Tibullus  would  never  drag  in  the  mire 
the  name  of  a  woman  whom  he  loved." 

"  Perhaps  not,  in  his  sober  senses — but  we 
had  all  become  expansively  confidential,  and 
he  gave  it,  the  shameless  wretch;  by  this  time 
Rome  rings  with  the  news." 

Sulpicia  rose  to  her  full  height,  haughty  as 
a  queen  at  her  coronation.  "  The  shame  be 
to  those  who  stole  his  heart's  secret.  For  my 
part  I  count  it  not  shame  but  the  highest 
glory  of  my  life  that  the  name  which  he  so 
honoured  was  mine." 

"You,  vou?"  shrieked  Valeria,  "do  vou 
know    that     such     public     avowal    must    be 


40        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

followed  by  immediate  marriage  or  by  un- 
utterable disgrace?  " 

Sulpicia  smiled  triumphantly  but  before  she 
could  speak  Pomponius  interrupted. 

"  Calm  yourself  dear  madame,  and  you  Sul- 
picia trust  me  that  no  hint  of  this  avowal  shall 
pass  my  lips — for  the  name  which  Tibullus 
made  notorious  was  not  yours  but  that  of  a 
courtesan  whom  he  purchased  in  the  slave- 
mart,  and  who  it  is  said  brings  her  master 
much  gain  by  publicly  plying  her  disgraceful 
profession." 

The  smile  upon  Sulpicia's  lips  scarcely 
flickered  but  its  expression  was  one  of  un- 
mitigable  scorn.     "  You  lie,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  I  do  not,"  Pomponius  replied.  "  I  can 
give  you  the  proof.  I  was  a  witness  of  the 
sale.  At  the  goldsmith's  in  the  Velabrum,  two 
days  after  your  uncle's  triumph,  a  Greek  slave 
was  displayed  for  our  inspection.  The  price 
demanded  was  exorbitant  and  in  order  to  meet 
it  Tibullus  sold  me  (I  can  show  it  to  j^ou 
in  proof  of  my  assertion)  the  murrine  vase 
which  he  had  just  received  from  Augustus." 

There  was  something  diabolically  convincing 
in  the  cold  deliberateness  of  the  man's  tone — 
and  Sulpicia's  heart  sank  as  he  proceeded,  then 
suddenly   gave   a   wild   leap,   for   behind   the 


Sulpicia  41 

speaker  stood  Tibullus  with  folded  arms 
calmly  listening  to  the  traducer's  arraign- 
ment. 

"  Give  him  the  lie,  Albius,"  Sulpicia  cried 
joyously.  "  You  heard  what  he  said.  Your 
word  shall  stand  against  his.  Is  it  true  that 
you  bartered  for  a  slave  your  laureate  prize, 
the  cup  which  the  Emperor  gave  you?  " 

Tibullus  took  both  her  hands  and  looked 
into  her  eyes.  "  I  have  always  spoken  the 
truth  to  you,  Sulpicia,  and  you  have  always 
given  me  faith.  Only  believe  in  me  still,  until 
I  tell  you  the  whole  stor}^  and  let  me  tell  it 
before  I  answer  your  question." 

"  This  is  no  time  for  pretty  stories,"  she 
exclaimed  impatiently.  "  Answer  me  now,  is 
this  accusation  true  ?  " 

"  Then  believe  that  this  is  a  test  of  your  love, 
of  your  faith  in  me,  for — may  the  gods  help 
me! — it  is  true." 

As  though  chilled  by  a  sudden  blast  Sul- 
picia drew  the  folds  of  her  palla  closely  about 
her  and  turned  toward  the  house. 

Tibullus  strode  forward  and  barred  her 
progress. 

"Will  you  not  listen  to  my  explanation?" 
he  pleaded. 

"  I  will  never  listen  to  another  word  from 


42         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


your  lips.  I  will  never  speak  to  you  again," 
she  replied. 

He  stepped  from  her  path  without  a  word 
and  she  entered  the  palace.  Turning,  he 
faced  the  evil  smile  of  Pomponius  Crassus. 

"  I  know  not  how  you  have  perverted  the 
truth,"  Tibullus  cried,  "  but  Sulpicia  shall 
know  it  and  judge  between  us." 

Valeria,  who  had  listened  with  a  malignant 
expression  upon  her  haughty  face,  interposed. 
"  Let  me  know  all,"  she  said.  "  Explain  this 
arraignment  if  you  can,  and  I  will  see  that 
Sulpicia  gives  you  justice.  You  admit  that 
5^ou  sold  the  Emperor's  gift,  an  act  so  base 
that  no  man  w^ith  knightly  instincts  could  have 
performed  it.  You  admit  also  that  you  pur- 
chased this  creature  with  the  money  so  realised. 
What  explanation  do  you  offer  for  these  trans- 
actions? " 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  roots  of  the 
young  man's  hair  but  he  answered  with  forced 
calmness. 

"  On  the  evening  of  your  brother's  triumph, 
Pomponius  offered  me  a  thousand  sesterces  for 
my  vase  and  I  refused  them. 

"  '  I  desire,'  I  told  him,  '  to  hand  down  this 
trophy  to  my  descendants,  if  so  be  the  gods 
grant  me  the  joys   of  marriage  and  father- 


Sulpicia  43 

hood.  Therefore  nothing  but  the  direst  dis- 
tress shall  deprive  me  of  this  prized  possession/ 
But  two  days  later  I  saw  in  the  shop  of  a 
vendor  of  precious  objects  a  beautiful  Greek 
slave,  whom  the  dealer,  a  Babylonish  Jew,  was 
showing  to  Pomponius  Crassus.  As  he  re- 
garded her  with  covetous  lustful  eyes  a  shudder 
ran  through  her  frame  and  her  glance  fell  upon 
me.  '  Buy  me,'  she  whispered,  when  the  at- 
tention of  Pomponius  was  averted,  '  buy  me, 
save  me  from  him,  or  I  shall  kill  myself.' 
Pomponius  turned  at  that  instant.  '  Ah !  it  is 
you,  TibuUus,'  he  cried.  '  You  would  not 
gratify  my  desire  to  possess  your  vase  the 
other  evening,  though  I  offered  you  all  the 
money  Mhich  I  can  spare  just  at  this  time  for 
such  luxuries.  Here  is  something  for  the  same 
price,  a  statue  of  the  Lady  of  Cyprus,  is  she 
not?  I  shall  strive  to  console  myself  with  her, 
and  yet  if  I  could  at  this  moment  have  your 
vase  of  oriental  murra,  I  would  gladly  choose 
it  instead.' 

"  *  Then  wait,'  I  cried,  '  and  you  shall  have 
your  wish,'  and  in  a  few  moments  the  vase  was 
in  his  hands.  Long  he  sat  deliberating,  while 
the  girl  covered  her  face  with  her  arm  and 
trembled.  At  last  he  sighed,  '  I  would  that 
I  could  afford  both,'  and  counted  me  out  the 


44         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

coins.  '  I  take  it  you  will  buy  the  girl, — but 
how  and  where  can  you  keep  her? ' 

"  '  I  buy  her/  I  replied,  '  but  I  desire  you  to 
witness  her  legal  manumission.  From  this  mo- 
ment she  is  free ' — and  I  gave  her  money  also 
to  return  to  her  own  country.  I  challenge 
Pomponius  to  deny  what  I  have  said." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  deny  the  facts,"  the 
latter  replied  with  a  shrug.  "  Tibullus  admits 
my  charges,  believe  his  incredible  magnanimity 
if  you  can.  That  he  set  his  slave  free  only 
proves  the  extent  of  his  infatuation.  The 
fact  remains  that  she  did  not  leave  Rome. 
Is  it  hard  to  guess  the  reason? " 

"  She  remained,  indeed,"  Tibullus  answered, 
"  but  has  supported  herself  by  singing  and 
dancing.  She  has  been  besought  by  many  a 
wealthy  man  but  it  seems  has  chosen  a 
poor  but  distinguished  lover,  the  poet  Hora- 
tius  Flaccus,  who  will  witness  to  what  I 
say." 

Valeria's  face  was  inscrutable;  Tibullus  had 
spoken  the  simple  truth,  and  in  her  heart  she 
believed  him.  But  her  determination  that  her 
daughter  should  marry  Pomponius  was  un- 
altered. She  glanced  reassuringly  at  her  de- 
sired son-in-law  and  he  left  them,  remarking 
nonchalantly  that  since   Tibullus  could  have 


Sulpicia  45 

nothing  more  to  bring  forward  it  was  useless 
to  waste  time  with  him. 

"  Trust  to  me,"  Valeria  said  deceitfully  as 
she  also  took  her  leave.  "  I  will  intercede 
for   you   with    Sulpicia,    and   bring   you    her 


answer." 


How  she  kept  her  promise  we  may  infer 
from  the  verses  fired  by  wounded  pride  whose 
presence  among  the  papers  of  Tibullus  have 
puzzled  the   critics   for  nearly  two   thousand 

years. 

Sulpicia  to  Tilmllus 

Your  trust  in  my  love  is  strangely  secure, 

You  believe  that  I  'm  credulous,  know  that  I  'm  pure, 

But  when  you  deem  I  can  only  be  true, 

That  nothing  can  weaken  my  firm  faith  in  you, — 

You  're  too  sure, — far  too  sure. 
Love  comes  and  love  goes,  for  this  he  has  wings. 
Ours  has  flown,  and  this  is  the  sole  thought  that 

stings, 
That  I  who  forgot  your  low  station  and  jjlace, 
Who  come  from  an  ancient  and  honourable  race, 

A  race  of  old  kings. 
Must  smother  my  pride  and  meekly  endure 
A  shameful,  degrading,  yet  boasted  amour. — 
When  you  think    (though  besought  by  the  noble) 

that  I 
Will  go  halves  for  your  love  with  this  wretch  from 

the  sty, — 
You  're  too  sure,  far  too  sure. 


46         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

IV 

NEMESIS   COMES 

Leave  to  the  Greek  his  marble  nymphs 

And  scrolls  of  wordy  lore: 
Thine  Roman  is  the  pi  him, 

Roman  the  sword  is  thine; 
The  even  trench,  the  bristling  mound, 

The  legion's  ordered  line. 

Macaulay,  The  Prophecy  of  Capys. 

Sulpicia's  insulting  and  unmerited  words 
had  fallen  like  burning  scoriae  upon  the  sen- 
sitive heart  of  Tibullus,  but  when  he  presently 
learned  that  she  was  dangerously  ill  all  his  in- 
dignation vanished  and  there  came  to  him  at 
the  same  time  by  sudden  intuition  the  convic- 
tion that  Valeria  had  played  him  false.  "  I 
must  trust  to  no  go-between,"  he  told  himself, 
"but  hear  Sulpicia's  verdict  from  her  own  lips." 

Every  avenue  of  approach  was  closed  and 
he  could  only  besiege  the  temples  of  the  gods 
for  her  recovery.  It  seemed  that  prayers 
offered  in  such  absolute  faith  could  not  fail 
of  an  answer  and  one  evening  as  he  walked 
alone  upon  the  terrace  he  saw  her  coming 
toward  him.  She  was  robed  in  white,  and 
looked   so  wan   and   fragile   that   at   first  he 


Sulpicia  47 

thought  her  a  ghost  and  knelt  reverently  as 
she  approached. 

She  bent  over  him,  her  eyes  searching  his 
very  soul.     "  You  love  me  still!  "  she  cried. 

"  I  have  always  loved  you,"  and  at  that  an- 
swer she  took  refuge  in  his  arms  sobbing  like 
a  grieved  child. 

So  they  sat  in  the  gathering  twilight,  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  her  cheek  against  his, 
and  as  he  felt  how  faint  was  the  beating  of 
her  heart  he  reproached  himself  that  love  for 
him  had  caused  her  such  suffering. 

"  They  plan  to  take  me  to  my  uncle's  villa 
to-morrow,"  she  murmured.  "  The  physicians 
said  yesterday  that  the  crisis  w^as  passed  and 
I  must  go  away  from  Rome  for  my  conval- 
escence. They  think  it  was  the  fever  that  was 
killing  me." 

"  I,  too,  have  a  villa,"  he  replied  joyfully. 
"  You  shall  grow  well  and  strong  at  Pedum, 
far  from  the  poison  of  the  city." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  wilful  smile  but 
he  continued  with  gentle  insistence.  "  This 
very  night  I  will  ask  your  uncle  for  your  hand, 
for  I  met  him  but  an  hour  since — as  he  was 
leaving  the  palace  of  the  Emperor.  *  Come 
to  my  library  at  the  lamp-lighting,'  he  said, 
*  for  I  have  great  news  for  you.'  " 


48         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  Augustus  has  interceded  for  us.  It  is  the 
post  of  which  Virgil  spoke!"  she  exclaimed, 
"  and  we  owe  it  to  Julia,  who  alone  knows  my 
secret.  She  told  her  father  I  was  dying  of  love ; 
and  he  came  to  see  me,  and  said  so  kindly, '  You 
will  not  die,  Sulpicia.  See,  I  have  brought  you 
a  wedding  gift.  It  is  the  appointment  as 
guardian  and  interpreter  of  the  Sibylline 
leaves.'  '  Of  whom? '  I  asked.  '  Of  whom  you 
please,'  he  answered.  'I  have  left  blank  the  line 
in  which  you  are  to  write  his  name — above  the 
w^ords,  "  husband  of  Sulpicia."  '  Then  it  was 
that  the  fever  left  me,  and  they  told  me  that  I 
would  recover;  but  I  was  not  sure.  I  only 
knew  that  I  must  see  you,  then  I  should 
know." 

She  nestled  closer  and  sighed  contentedly. 
"  Do  3^ou  remember  Love,  the  white  villa  near 
the  temple  of  the  Sibyl  at  Tivoli?  It  is  there 
you  must  listen  to  the  voices ;  there,  constantly 
refreshed  by  the  spray  from  the  great  water- 
fall, our  souls  will  expand  like  lilies  in  some 
quiet  lake." 

"  Even  so  beloved,"  he  replied: 

"  Let  me  lose  wealth  and  fame  and  all  men  prize, 
Only  be  near  me  at  my  parting  breath 
And  through  the  gateway  of  thy  loving  eyes 
My  soul  shall  walk  all  unafraid  to  death," 


Sulpicia  49 

But  the  implacable  goddess  Nemesis  could 
not  brook  such  happiness,  and  Tibullus  was 
aghast  as  Messala  unfolded  his  schemes  of  far- 
reaching  ambition.  It  was  no  peaceful  career, 
half  sacerdotal  and  half  literary,  which  was  now 
offered  him,  but  a  strenuous  military  campaign 
leading  as  his  patron  believed  through  many 
dangers  to  glory  and  to  immense  wealth. 

Messala  had  been  created  Proconsul  of 
Asia,  and  he  insisted  that  Tibullus  should  ac- 
company him  at  once  to  the  Orient  as  his  next 
in  command. 

"  You  shall  be  Prefect,"  he  said,  ''  of  the 
richest  of  its  provinces,  and  shall  be  laden  with 
spoils  when  we  return.  Only  aid  me  now  in 
the  difficulties  of  administration  as  you  aided 
me  in  conquest  in  Gaul.  Why  do  you  hesi- 
tate? Is  it  from  lack  of  friendship  or  lack 
of  ambition? " 

Tibullus  stammered  forth  the  true  reason, 
his  love  for  Sulpicia,  and  Messala  heard  him 
indulgently.  "  I  had  thought  of  her  as  the 
future  wife  of  my  son,"  he  said,  "  but  the 
maid  shall  decide.  Wealth  and  high  position 
will  not  hurt  your  chances  in  the  eyes  of  my 
sister  Valeria;  let  that  matter  wait  until  our 
return.  If  Sulpicia  loves  you  she  will  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  your  advancement,  and 


50         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

you  can  both  bear  temporary  separation  for 
the  sake  of  j'^our  career." 

But  the  ordeal  presented  to  the  lovers  in  the 
fervour  of  their  reconciliation  was  too  great 
for  them  to  endure  unassisted,  and  with  char- 
acteristic piety  Tibullus  left  the  decisive 
word  to  the  gods.  Hurrying  to  Prseneste  he 
consulted  the  famous  sortes  at  the  temple  of 
Fortune.  He  was  in  a  sense  the  child  of  this 
goddess,  for  he  had  been  cradled  within  view 
of  her  magnificent  temple. 

A  blindfolded  youth,  whose  office  it  was, 
drew  from  a  vase  three  of  the  tablets  inscribed 
with  quotations  from  the  writings  of  Virgil, 
which  were  implicitly  believed  by  the  devout 
to  augur  the  success  or  disaster  of  any 
undertaking. 

The  first  tablet  drawn  for  Tibullus  bore  the 
mandate  taken  from  the  eighth  book  of  the 
^neid: 

Go  thou,  whom  Destiny  favours, 
Both  in  thy  years  and  thy  race; 
Go  thou  who  art  summoned  by  Heaven. 

He  bowed  submissively.  "Will  the  ex- 
pedition be  successful?"  he  asked;  and  the 
youth  handed  him  a  second  tablet  bearing  the 
inscription : 


Sulpicia  51 

Watching  thee  from  the  sky  stands  Actian  Apollo 
Bending  his  bow,  and  in  terror  of  him  all  the  Indies 

and  Egypt, 
All   the  Arabian    host   are   in    flight,    and    all   the 

Sabseans. 

But  even  this  assurance  of  victory  was  not 
enough,  and  Tibullus  asked,  "  Shall  I  return 
to  my  beloved?"  And  again  the  fateful 
lottery  gave  its  misleading  promise: 

Saved  from  that  storm  of  war  and  borne  o'er  vast 

reaches  of  water, 
Enjoy  thy  quiet  abode,  with  the  gods  of  thy  hearth 

and  thy  true  love. 
Death  shall  be  powerless  to  claim  thee  till  from  the 

home  of  thy  fathers. 
Through  the  loved  eyes  of  thy  Delia  joyous  thou  'It 

pass  to  Elysium. 

The  last  lines  were  not  Virgil's  nor  was  the 
drawing  left  to  chance,  for  Valeria,  knowing 
that  Tibullus  had  gone  to  consult  the  oracle, 
had  suborned  the  priest  in  charge. 

The  resemblance  to  his  own  latest  verse 
aroused  no  suspicion  in  the  credulous  mind  of 
Tibullus.  On  the  contrary,  it  seemed  to  him 
an  evidence  of  divine  omniscience,  and  a  great 
calm  settled  upon  his  soul,  every  hesitation 
drowned  in  an  ocean  of  faith. 


52         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


But  Siilpicia  had  not  the  same  implicit  trust 
or  the  same  habit  of  unquestioning  obedience. 
Her  heart  cried  out  for  a  deity  who  could  be 
touched  with  compassion  for  human  suffering, 
— for  a  mother-goddess  more  sympathetic  than 
Juno,  who  would  give  her  the  love  denied  her 
by  her  earthly  mother. 

Such  a  goddess  had  recently  built  up  a  great 
cult  in  Rome.  Isis,  the  Egyptian  patroness 
of  sailors  upon  the  sea  and  all  women  in 
anguish  of  mind  and  body,  the  Great  JNIother 
who  had  passed  through  the  agony  of  seeing 
her  beloved  Osiris  killed  by  Typhon,  god  of 
evil,  and  had  triumphantly  witnessed  his  re- 
surrection, was  the  prototype  of  the  Mater 
Dolorosa,  who  has  held  the  same  place  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  for  centuries,  and  who 
still  rivals  her  divine  son  in  the  petitions  of 
suffering  humanity. 

It  chanced  that  the  season  of  spring  was  at 
hand  when  the  great  festival  of  the  opening 
of  navigation  was  celebrated  by  the  devotees 
of  Isis,  who  launched  a  small  ship  in  her 
honour  laden  with  the  votive  offerings  of  the 
suppliants.  A  vast  procession  wound  its  way 
to  the  Tiber  escorting  the  sacred  ship  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  sweetest  instrumental 
music  and  a  chanted  litany. 


Sulpicia  53 

Sulpicia,  clad  in  white  and  closely  veiled, 
bore  a  lighted  lamp  garlanded  with  flowers 
which  represented  her  lover.  She  would  place 
the  lamp  upon  the  symbolic  ship  and  watch 
the  flame  as  the  river  bore  it  away.  If  it  was 
not  extinguished,  but  burned  steadily  until  the 
ship  was  lost  to  sight,  the  omen  for  his  voyage 
was  favourable. 

At  her  side  walked  or  rather  danced  a 
Bacchante-like  creature  agitating  wildly  a 
bronze  sistrum  or  sacred  rattle.  The  girl  car- 
ried also  two  doves  in  a  cage.  She  was  under 
the  stress  of  strong  emotion,  and  tears  streamed 
from  her  eyes  as  she  leapt  and  whirled.  At 
a  prearranged  signal  this  young  votary  joined 
with  Sulpicia  in  singing  the  prayer  to  the  All- 
Pitiful  Mother: 

Isis,  Mother  Isis, 

We  women  cry  to  thee, 
Thou  hast  felt  each  crisis 

Of  woman's  agony; 
Thou  hast  held  Osiris 

All  mangled  on  thy  knees. 
Thou  knowest  well  how  dire  is 

The  danger  of  the  seas. 

Isis,  Regina  Maris, 

I  lift  my  heart  to  thee. 
When  one  I  love  afar  is 


54         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Upon  the  cruel  sea, — 
When  I  list  unsleeping 

To  beating  of  the  rain 
And  pray  with  bitter  weeping, 

O  bring  my  love  again, — 

Mater  Dolorosa 

Of  those  who  love  and  part, 
Who  boldest  them  the  closer 

Unto  thy  pitying  heart, 
O  hold  my  lover  faithful 

And  safe  upon  the  sea, — 
Disperse  the  tempests  fateful 

And  bring  him  back  to  me. 

Arrived  at  the  shore  all  knelt  and  repeated 
the  solemn  litany,  while  the  priests  laded  and 
launched  the  mimic  ship. 

In  utter  silence  the  great  throng  watched 
it  as  the  gentle  breeze  filled  its  sails  and  the 
current  swept  it  on  its  course.  Like  a  star 
of  happy  presage  the  light  of  Sulpicia's  lamp 
shone  clearly  until  the  ship  rounded  a  point 
and  was  lost  to  sight.  Then  the  priest 
sprinkled  the  kneeling  worshippers  and  re- 
peated a  benediction.  Calmed  and  comforted 
the  two  women  rose  and  regarded  one  another 
with  sympathy.  The  bonds  of  a  common  ex- 
perience of  love,  trouble,  and  religious  exalta- 
tion united  them.     There  was  a  yearning  look 


Sulpicia  55 

in  the  wild  eyes  of  the  gipsy-like  girl  at  her 
side  which  appealed  irresistibly  to  Sulpicia, 
and  she  extended  her  hand  to  her.  The  girl 
kissed  it  gratefully. 

"  You  also  have  a  lover  who  is  going  away?  " 
Sulpicia  asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  replied,  "  but  I  am  happy 
now,  for  Isis  approves  my  project,  and  I  shall 
go  too.  Did  you  not  see  how  I  placed  the 
cage  with  one  turtle-dove  on  the  ship,  and  when 
it  was  well  under  way  loosed  the  other  which 
I  had  held  in  my  bosom — and  that  she  joined 
her  mate?  She  joined  her  mate  as  I  shall 
mine.  He  is  a  soldier  and  he  sails  on  a  troop- 
ship, in  which  Messala  permits  no  women ;  but 
I  shall  disguise  myself  as  a  boy  and  hide  until 
we  are  far  out  at  sea." 

"  But  after  that  you  will  surely  be  discov- 
ered, and  put  on  shore,"  said  Sulpicia.- 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  replied  the  girl,  "  for  my 
lover  is  Messala's  friend,  and  he  will  find  means 
to  keep  me,  for  Isis  has  promised.  In  my 
own  land  I  am  a  chieftain's  daughter;  we  shall 
be  wedded  in  Greece  and  never  return." 

A  sudden  fear  clutched  at  Sulpicia's  heart. 
"  Who  are  you?  "  she  asked,  "  and  who  is  your 
lover? " 

"  They  call  me  Glycera  the  Dancer,"  the 


56         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

girl  replied,  "  but  I  will  tell  you  a  secret.  I 
am  Delia,  and  my  lover  is  the  poet  Tibullus." 

Dazed,  half-demented,  Sulpicia  knew  not 
how  she  found  her  way  home. 

She  had  borne  so  much,  but  the  limit  of 
endurance  had  come  at  last.  She  had  loved 
Albius  with  all  the  intensity  of  her  soul 
and  had  accepted  his  incredible  defence  of  the 
charges  made  by  Pomponius  Crassus.  It  mat- 
tered not,  she  told  herself,  if  only  he  loved  this 
base  slave  no  longer.  But  here  was  the  rival 
who  aspired  to  become  his  wife.  Here  was 
duplicity  and  treachery  on  the  part  of  Tibul- 
lus. He  was  false,  false  to  the  core.  Should 
she  call  him  to  her  and  confront  him  with  his 
villany?  No,  for  he  would  lie  again  and 
justify  himself  as  once  before,  and  she,  too 
glad  to  be  beguiled,  would  believe  him.  But 
if  the  girl  had  lied — ?  Was  there  any  certain 
way  of  arriving  at  the  truth?  Yes,  one  test 
remained  infallible  and  she  would  risk  all  upon 
it.  Albius  had  asserted  that  she,  Sulpicia, 
should  be  his  oracle — he  would  go  or  stay  at 
her  bidding.  She  would  bid  him  give  up  this 
journey  and  all  that  it  meant  for  her  sake. 
And  thus  she  wrote  him,  with  no  hint  of  her 
discovery : 

"  Beloved,  Isis  promises  joy  and  love  for 


Sulpicia  57 

those  who  sacrifice  all  for  love.  My  heart  is 
breaking  at  the  thought  of  separation  from 
you.  Love  is  not  love  which  cannot  endure  any 
privation  for  the  sake  of  the  beloved.  There- 
fore I  say — if  you  love  me,  stay." 

This  letter  Sulpicia's  messenger  submitted 
to  Valeria,  who  saw  that  its  meaning  could 
be  made  to  serve  her  purpose  by  the  altera- 
tion of  one  word.  Unquestioningly  Tibullus 
obeyed  the  command,  "  If  you  love  me,  go" 
His  attempt  to  bid  Sulpicia  farewell  was  frus- 
trated by  Valeria,  nor  was  a  letter  written 
Sulpicia  from  Ostia  ever  received.  She 
learned  from  others  that  he  had  gone,  and  be- 
lieved herself  scorned  and  deserted  by  the  lover 
who  had  nerved  himself  to  the  parting  with 
the  conviction  that  he  was  complying  with  her 
wishes. 

Not  until  the  ship  had  rounded  Sicily,  did 
Glycera  discover  herself  to  Tibullus.  He  had 
been  pacing  the  deck  with  Messala  late  that 
evening,  and  had  told  his  chief  of  the  omens 
for  a  propitious  voyage  granted  him  by  the 
goddess  Fortune. 

"  You  were  ever  Fortune's  favourite," 
Messala  replied ;  but  there  was  a  new  and  sus- 
picious note  in  his  voice,  as  he  added :  "  Ex- 
amine well  your  heart,   ask  yourself  if  you 


58         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

deserve  fortune,  for  if  you  do  not  it  will  dis- 
solve like  broken  bubbles." 

"  Ah!  that  is  what  I  fear,"  Tibullus  replied. 
"  When  I  think  of  Sulpicia  I  cannot  believe 
my  blessedness,  for  what  man  could  deserve 
her  love." 

At  that  instant  a  song  thrilled  through  the 
silence,  wondrously  sweet  and  clear. 

Messala  started,  "  That  is  a  woman's  voice," 
he  said,  "  and  yet  there  should  be  no  woman 
on  board  the  vessel.  Are  we,  think  you, 
among  the  sirens?" 

They  held  their  breath  and  the  words  startled 
Tibullus  for  they  were  those  of  the  song  which 
Glycera  had  sung  at  the  banquet  given  by 
Horace,  and  now  as  then  they  seemed  to  him 
a  premonition  of  disaster. 

"  I  will  probe  this  mystery,"  said  INIessala, 
as  he  strode  away.  There  was  no  one  on  deck 
but  the  helmsman  and  a  curly-headed  cabin- 
boy  who  sat  at  his  side  gazing  at  the  ship's 
wake,  and  the  general,  sorely  puzzled,  retired 
to  his  cabin. 

He  had  scarcely  gone  below  when  the  words 
rang  out  again; 

"  Great  Jove  who  doth  o'erweeninc:  pride  abase 
Unto  each  mortal  metes  this  certain  fate, 


V 


Sulpicia  59 

That  when  he  deems  himself  most  fortunate 
Nemesis  cometh  at  her  swiftest  pace." 

It  was  unmistakably  the  cabin-boy,  and  he 
came  forward  as  he  sang. 

"Is  it  indeed  you,  Nemesis?"  Albius  ex- 
claimed. 

"  It  is  I  indeed,"  laughed  Glycera,  as  she 
strove  to  twine  her  arms  around  the  young 
man's  neck.  He  held  her  hands  firmly  and 
asked  with  sternness  the  meaning  of  her  prank. 

"  It  means  that  I  love  you,  that  I  could  not 
let  you  go  without  me." 

Indignant  at  her  effrontery,  Tibullus  chided 
her  bitterly  and  the  girl  sought  a  woman's 
refuge  in  tears. 

"  I  loved  vou,"  she  reiterated,  "  I  love  you." 

"  But  you  had  no  right  to  do  so,  you  who 
knew  that  I  am  another's." 

"Did  you  not  bid  me  return  to  Greece?"  she 
pleaded. 

"  True,  but  not  with  me.  I  shall  disclose 
your  presence  to  Messala,  and  demand  that 
you  be  put  on  shore  at  the  first  port." 

The  girl  turned  silently  away,  and  Tibullus, 
repenting  of  his  harshness,  called  her  back. 
"  You  must  understand,"  he  said  kindly,  "  that 
you  place  me  in  a  false  and  intolerable  posi- 


6o         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

tion.  How  could  you  imagine  that  I  would 
not  be  displeased?" 

"  And  my  position? "  she  asked,  "  what  will 
you  tell  JMessala? " 

"  That  you  were  homesick  for  Greece,"  he 
replied.  "  That  will  be  a  sufficient  excuse,  no 
one  shall  know  your  secret  from  me." 

She  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  begging  him 
to  allow  her  to  attend  him  as  his  slave,  but 
he  was  inflexible,  and  Glycera,  repudiating  his 
explanation  of  her  motives,  avoM'ed  frankly 
to  JNIessala  that  love  alone  had  impelled  her 
to  follow  Tibullus. 

"  You  shall  leave  the  ship  at  Corcyra,"  Mes- 
sala  said  to  Glycera,  "  and  you,  Albius,  I  count 
not  altogether  blameless,  for  I  have  heard  from 
Valeria  how  j^ou  purchased  this  slave,  and  I 
wonder  that  Sulpicia  so  easily  forgave  you. 
Nay,  protest  not,  for  I  have  known  many  an- 
other good  man  bewitched  by  such  a  sorceress." 

"  A  sorceress  indeed,"  Glycera  muttered  as 
the  two  men  talked  away.  "Ah!  they  do 
not  know  that  I  have  the  power  to  chain  him 
to  me  past  all  release."  She  drew  a  small 
phial  from  her  bosom.  "  I  had  not  thought 
to  use  it,"  she  cried  to  herself,  "  for  the 
witch  who  sold  it  to  me  told  me  that 
I   must  give  it   to  my  lover   only  when   all 


Sulpicia  6i 

womanly  arts  failed.  It  is  a  potion  of  such 
power  that  an  overdose  would  kill.  Ten 
drops,  neither  more  nor  less,  in  any  drink  and 
he  will  be  wholly  mine.  It  is  odourless,  colour- 
less, tasteless.  I  will  pour  it  into  the  flask  of 
water  which  I  place  beside  his  pillow,  and  in 
the  morning  I  can  defy  the  world." 

But  when  the  morning  dawned  Tibullus, 
from  whose  face  all  intelligence  had  fled,  lay 
plucking  at  his  coverlet,  uttering  meaningless 
words. 

"  It  is  the  plague,"  said  the  mistaken 
physician;  "  for  the  safety  of  all  on  board  he 
must  be  put  on  shore.  I  can  do  nothing  for 
him.  When  the  disease  strikes  like  that  death 
is  certain." 

And  so  they  bore  him  to  die  in  a  lonely  hut 
at  Corcyra,  Glycera  following  and  gaining 
credit  in  Messala's  eyes  for  her  devotion.  With 
his  first  despatches  to  Rome  he  sent  the  news 
to  Sulpicia.  "  Perchance  she  will  mourn  less  if 
she  knows  that  her  lover  was  unfaithful,"  he 
reflected,  and  with  kindly  intentioned  cruelty 
he  wrote,  "  Grieve  not  that  Tibullus  is  dead. 
You  have  been  spared  a  living  death.  He 
never  loved  you,  but  on  this  voyage  brought 
with  him  his  slave  of  whom  Pomponius  Cras- 
sus  told  you.     Summon  your  pride  to  your 


62         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

aid;  forget  one  whom  the  gods  have  justly 
punished." 

Messala  had  not  been  far  wrong  when, 
shocked  by  the  death-struck  face  of  Tibullus, 
he  counted  him  as  no  longer  among  the  living. 
For  many  days  and  nights  delirium  lasted,  and 
when  it  passed  Tibullus  was  so  spent  that  he 
believed  himself  dying.  But  the  flame  of  his 
genius  shot  up  clear  and  bright  as  he  dictated 
two  farewell  letters,  and  with  these  his  true 
life  closed,  for  with  one  exception  all  his  after 
poems  are  as  smouldering  embers  to  the  pure 
fire  of  those  that  precede  them. 

Tibullus  had  gold  and  the  letter  to  his  com- 
mander was  despatched  by  a  messenger  to  Asia, 
and  ^lessala's  eyes  moistened  with  sorrow  as 
he  read — 

While  you,  Messala,  plough  the  joyons  main 
And  found  on  Eastern  shores  an  empire  vast — 
Like  flotsam  on  this  Grecian  island  cast 

I  breathe  my  last  in  loneliness  and  pain. 

Perfidious  Fortune  thrice  implored  in  vain 
With  Isis  promised  joy  for  perils  past, 
A  cloudless  love  which  evermore  should  last — 

And  I  shall  find  it — on  Elysium's  plain. 

There  fragrant  Cassia  perfumes  every  breeze, 
There  roses  bloom  and  birds  delirious  sing, 
While  faithful  lovers  there  by  Venus  led 


Sulpicia  63 


Fondly  embracing  walk  beneath  the  trees. 
There  I  shall  wait  till  Venus  Delia  bring — 
Let  this  be  said  of  me  when  I  am  dead. 


Even  Sulpicia's  heart  might  have  melted  had 
not  Glycera  kept  back  the  second  letter. 

My  Darlingj  wear  thy  purple  robes  nnrent, 
Weep  not  for  me  nor  tear  thy  amber  hair — 
I  could  not  brook  in  Heaven  thy  despair. 

Bid  thy  good  nurse,  when  thou  with  grief  art 
spent, 

Repeat  from  Homer's  legend  eloquent 
Penelope's  high  constancy  so  rare, 
Till   drooping  like  her  o'er  thy  weaving  there 

Thou  'It  slumber  and  dreams  bring  thee  sweet 
content. 

But  if  my  ghost  indeed  to  thee  might  wend, 
And  from  thy  casement,  which  o'erlooks   the 
street. 
As  in  the  blissful  nights  of  long  ago, 
My  sweet  could  hear  my  signal  and  descend 
The  secret  stair  with  naked  noiseless  feet — 
I  'd  give  my  Heaven  above  for  that  below ! 

The  immediate  effects  of  the  drug  ad- 
ministered to  Tibullus  were  exhausted,  but  it 
was  none  the  less  a  slow  poison.  Death  was 
only  playing  with  its  victim, — and  though  he 


64         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

now  felt  no  pain  and  even  seemed  convales- 
cing it  was  only  temporary  respite. 

One  consuming  desire  possessed  him,  and 
gave  him  fictitious  strength.  He  must  see 
Sulpicia,  and  patiently  convincing  Glycera  of 
his  gratitude,  and  at  the  same  time  of  his  in- 
flexibility, he  embarked  upon  the  first  Rome- 
bound  vessel  which  touched  at  Corcj^ra. 
Like  the  ghost  of  his  former  self  he  made  his 
way  to  the  postern-gate  which  had  so  often 
turned  on  silent  hinges  to  admit  him  to  his 
tryst.  Such  medicine  there  is  in  love's  frui- 
tion that  he  might  even  then  have  recovered 
had  Sulpicia  met  him  as  he  dreamed.  But 
instead — the  aged  crone,  his  former  accom- 
plice, told  him  the  bitter  truth  that  Sulpicia, 
believing  her  uncle's  message,  had  yielded  at 
last,  not,  thank  Heaven,  to  the  wretch  Pom- 
ponius  Crassus  but  to  a  true  and  patient 
love,  and  was  now  the  bride  of  her  cousin 
Messalinus. 

Distraught  by  his  great  trouble,  the  fine  mind 
of  Tibullus,  already  disordered  by  mortal  ill- 
ness, gave  way,  and  Horace,  finding  him  wan- 
dering demented  in  the  streets,  took  him  to 
Pedum,  in  whose  loved  retirement  he  trusted 
that  his  friend  might  again  find  peace.  The 
hope  was  vain;  Tibullus  had  suffered  beyond 


Sulpicia  65 

endurance,  and  from  the  seclusion  of  his  villa 
he  poured  forth  the  ravings  of  a  madman. 

His  last  poems  bear  so  little  resemblance  to 
the  first  delicate  flowering  of  his  genius  that 
many  critics  deny  their  authorship.  Coarse 
recrimination,  threats  of  revenge,  alternate 
with  the  deepest  despair  and  suicidal  mania, 
while  in  the  midst  of  the  bitterest  denunciation 
he  reiterates  his  unalterable  love. 

But  one  day,  when  the  raging  volcano  of 
his  heart  had  burned  itself  out,  at  the  supreme 
moment  w^hen  he  lay  in  the  cool  shadow  of 
the  approaching  spirit  whose  touch  upon  the 
pulse  calms  all  fever,  he  was  aware  of  a  wild- 
eyed,  haggard  woman  who  threw  herself  at  the 
foot  of  his  couch.  It  was  Glycera,  whom  love 
and  remorse  would  not  suffer  to  obey  his  com- 
mands, but  who  had  again  dared  the  treach- 
erous seas  to  seek  his  forgiveness. 

And  Tibullus  as  he  listened  to  her  in- 
coherent confession  sobbed  forth  amid  passion- 
ate caresses  and  despairing  lamentations,  and 
comprehended  that  it  was  the  philtre  given  by 
her  hands  which  had  brought  him  to  his  death, 
felt  his  heart  stirred  by  but  one  thought: 

'*  Miserable  as  I  am,  is  it  possible  that  I 
can  lift  this  crushed  rose  from  the  gutter  and 
bring  peace  to  a  heart  torn  with  pain?  " 


66         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  Nemesis,"  he  said,  "  love  was  the  motive 
of  your  fault,  therefore  I  forgive  it  freely." 

It  was  the  message  of  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
so  ardently  longed  for,  but  as  yet  unheard  in 
Rome,  to  whom  Tibullus  might  have  listened 
had  he  continued  his  voyage  with  JNIessala. 
Who  can  doubt  that  he  was  one  of  those  of 
whom  the  Saviour  declared,  "Other  sheep  have 
I  who  are  not  of  this  fold  "? 

Only  one  poem  of  importance  marked  the 
brief  twilight  of  the  after  life  of  Tibullus.  At 
the  request  of  INIessala  he  wrote  the  ode  cele- 
brating the  inauguration  of  ISIessalinus  as  one 
of  the  guardians  of  the  Sibylline  books,  whose 
prophecies  Tibullus  himself  was  so  much  better 
fitted  to  explain.  No  trace  of  disappointment 
or  envy  is  apparent  in  the  noble  poem.  Though 
it  lacks  the  fire  which  leaped  from  his  heart 
when  he  honoured  the  triumph  of  his  patron, 
it  breathes  the  exquisite  refinement  and  the  de- 
votion to  lofty  ideals  of  patriotism  and  religion 
which  characterised  his  early  verse,  with  a 
magnanimity  of  soul  not  excelled  by  any 
Christian  writer. 

There  was  a  tradition  long  current  in  Rome 
that  ISIessalinus  had  himself  gone  to  Prseneste 
to  seek  the  favour  of  the  presence  of  Tibullus 
at  this  ceremony,  but  that  the  messenger  who 


Sulpicia  67 

carried  the  manuscript  from  the  poet's  villa  to 
that  of  the  Emperor  brought  the  news  that 
Death  had  claimed  the  gentle  laureate  even  as 
his  hand  traced  the  concluding  lines.  At  that 
word  Sulpicia,  who  had  accompanied  her  hus- 
band, had  risen  suddenly  and  had  fled  down 
the  terraced  garden  and  through  the  dusky, 
memory-haunted  grove  past  the  statue  of  old 
Terminus  and  under  the  vine-hung  pergolas 
to  the  poet's  villa. 

Rising  from  its  threshold,  across  which  she 
had  thrown  herself  in  her  despair,  Glycera  had 
striven  to  prevent  Sulpicia' s  entrance ;  with  the 
challenge,  "  By  what  right  do  you  enter  here?  " 

Then,  as  recognition  dawned  upon  each  with 
the  memory  of  the  day  when  they  had  sung 
together  the  litany  to  Isis,  and  watched  the 
sacred  ship  melt  into  the  sunset,  the  widowed 
Glycera  stepped  aside  crying,  "  yours  is  the 
first  right.  You  are  Delia."  At  the  name  of 
Delia  the  eyes  of  the  dying  man  opened  for 
an  instant,  and  gazed  into  those  of  Sulpicia. 
So  gazing  his  soul  passed  and  the  smile  upon 
the  dead  man's  lips  was  one  of  rapture 
ineffable. 


Whence  came  this  tradition?    Did  Sulpicia's 


68         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

friend,  the  Princess  Julia  (who  may  have  been 
a  witness  of  this  parting  as  she  was  of  the  first 
meeting  of  the  lovers),  tell  the  secret  to  the 
young  poet  Ovid,  or  was  it  between  the  lines 
of  the  poems  of  Tibullus  that  Ovid  found  the 
heart  histort^  which  he  sketched  in  the  Elegj' 
to  his  friend  that  is  to-day  the  whitest  flower 
among  the  crimson  blossoms  of  his  own  erotic 
verse  ? 

This  lament,  which  drew  tears  from  the  lis- 
tenincr  multitude,  manv  of  whom  had  known 
the  gentle  poet,  will  fittingly  close  our  story  of 
an  almost  blameless  life: 

If  mighty  goddesses  ever  -vrith.  grief  for  a  mortal 
could  sorrow. 
Thou  Elegia  must  mourn,  mourn  for  thy  favourite 
bard. 
Would   that   his   genius   transcendent   one   moment 
this  poor  pen  could  borrow 
That  my  lament  might  arise,  rise  like  the  incense 
of  nard. 

Poets,  though  fondly  we  cherish,  must  pass  like  the 
rest  through  death's  portal, 
Even  great  Homer  himself  passed  at  the  height  of 
his  fame, 
Only  his  verse  cannot  perish,  the  heroes  he  sang  are 
immortal, — 
So  fair  Xemesis  shall  live,  deathless  be  Delia's 
dear  name. 


Sulpicia  69 

Better  the  fate  of  our  friend  than  the  one  which  he 
dreaded  when  lying 
Sick  in  that  lone  Grecian  isle,  far  from  his  Delia 
forlorn. 
Faithful   through  long  years  of  absence,  she  came 
when  she  heard  he  was  dying, 
Bent  o'er  his  couch  in  despair,  heedless  of  eyes 
filled  with  scorn. 


Lavished  her  tenderest  caresses,  as  once  in  youth's 
passionate  ardour, 
Recked  not  the  repulse  of  Nemesis,  prompted  by 
jealousy's  sting, — 
"  Heart  which  refused  his  great  love,  is  thy  lot  or 
mine  pray  the  harder? 
Mine  was  the  hand  he  held  dying,  mine  is  the  hand 
with  the  ring." 

But  what  availed  ye,  O  women  beloved,  that  Pr?p- 
nestian  Fortune, 
Thrice  in  her  temples  besought,  thrice  gave  pro- 
pitious replies? 
What  the  Great  Mother  Isis  with  cymbals  and  dance 
to  importune. 
Since  ashes   and   dust  in  this  urn   all   that  was 
Tibullus  lies? 


Loving  and  rev'rent  he  lived,  nor  of  right  god  or 
mortal  defrauded. 
In  the  midst  of  our  bitter  lamenting  his  death 
wakes  this  impious  thought, 


70         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Whether  indeed  the  high  gods  he  so  faithfully  served 
and  so  lauded 
Be  but  a  beautiful  dream,  glamour,  delusion,  and 
naught ! 


Perish  such  blasphemous  lies!     From  his  couch  in 
Elysium  vernal 
Leaps   up    Catullus    and    cries :     "  Welcome,    my 
friend,  to  the  blest! 
'Tis  only  suffering  that  dies,  but  joyance  and  love 
are  eternal." 
Safely,  O  urn,  guard  thy  prize;  gently,  O  earth, 
press  his  breast. 


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CHAPTER  II 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   SIRENS 


AT   CAPRI 

So  I  turned  to  the  sea,  and  there  slumbered 

As  greenly  as  ever 

Those  Isles  of  the  Sirens,  your  Galli ; 

No  ages  can  sever 

The  three,  nor  enable  the  sister 

To  join  them — half-way 
On  the  voyage  she  looked  at  Ulysses. 

'T'HE  Princess  had  gazed  at  them  hstlessly 
^  all  the  morning,  those  misty  Siren  Islets 
nestling  under  the  heights  of  the  Sorrentan 
peninsula  across  the  shimmering  water,  on 
which  the  rippling  breeze  played  a  perpetual 
fugue  of  colour-tones  from  pale  green 
through  blue  to  purj)le  and  from  violet  back 
again  to  jade. 

71 


72         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

It  was  possibly  the  most  beautiful  panorama 
in  all  the  world,  for  the  Emperor's  villa  com- 
manded not  alone  the  glorious  Neapolitan  bay 
curving  from  Misenum  past  the  mountain 
whose  menacing  smoky  pillar  rose  high  above 
gay,  unheeding  Pompeii,  but  from  the  marble 
terrace  one  could  sweep  also  the  gulf  of 
Salerno,  to  the  vague  spots  in  the  amethystine 
distance  which  persons  of  strong  eyesight, 
or  stronger  imagination,  recognised  as  the 
temples  of  Psestum. 

But  the  daughter  of  Augustus  stared  sul- 
lenly at  the  enchanting  landscape,  sick  to  the 
death  of  its  familiar  loveliness.  And  yet  it 
was  here  that  Julia  had  spent  the  happiest 
hours  of  her  childhood,  with  her  father's  sister 
Octavia  and  the  troop  of  cousins,  the  gentle 
Marcellus  among  the  rest  to  whom  she  had 
been  wedded  at  fifteen. 

"  Short-lived  and  unfortunate  were  those  to 
whom  the  Roman  people  gave  their  love,"  for 
two  brief  years  had  scarcely  passed  when  the 
girl-widow  and  the  bereaved  mother  wept  as 
Virgil  read  before  them  his  matchless  lines: 

Heu  miserande  puer! 

Tu  Marcellus  eris.     Manibus  date  lilia  plenis 

Purpureos  spargam  flores. 


The  Sonor  of  the  Sirens  73 


•fc> 


So  Julia  had  chosen  Octavia's  villa  at 
Capri  as  the  retreat  in  which  to  spend  her 
months  of  mourning;  but  at  seventeen  one 
cannot  mourn  for  ever — the  merry  cousins 
who  had  roamed  the  island  with  her  in  the  old 
days  were  at  the  Emperor's  palace  on  the 
Palatine,  and  the  sight  of  Octavia's  grief,  so 
much  deeper  and  more  lasting  than  her  own, 
at  first  depressed  and  finally  wearied  Julia 
almost  past  endurance. 

The  pitying  Octavia  could  not  comprehend 
that  the  melancholy  of  her  daughter-in-law 
was  not  so  much  sorrow  as  revolt  against 
sorrow,  an  intolerable  longing  for  joy  and 
laughter,  for  romping  and  love,  and  an  un- 
speakable loathing  of  this  monotony  of  tears. 

"How  much  longer  must  it  last?"  she 
asked  herself.  For  over  a  year  Augustus  had 
respected  the  grief  of  his  sister  and  daughter, 
but  he  must  realise  that  his  only  child  could 
not  be  permitted  to  spend  her  life  in  widow- 
hood. He  had  no  son,  and  in  choosing  a  son- 
in-law  he  announced  his  successor, — the  future 
Emperor  of  Rome. 

Ah!  that  was  the  terrible  factor  in  her  fate 
which  gripped  Julia's  heart  when  she  thought 
of  her  future.  Whom  would  her  father 
choose?     Of  his  love  she  had  no  doubt;  but 


74         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

he  had  said  that  he  had  two  daughters,  Juha  i 

and  the  Empire,  and  he  knew  not  which  gave  | 

him  most  anxiety.  She  knew  too  well  that 
if  he  must  decide  between  her  happiness  and  1 

the  good  of  Rome  that  he  would  sacrifice  her  i 

without  hesitation  as  he  would  himself,  there 
would  be  no  possibility  of  evading  or  of  alter-  | 

ing  that  inflexible  will. 

It  was  this  knowledge  which  curbed  her  im-  * 

patience,  which  made  her  accept  tedium  and 
vacuity  rather  than  hasten  to  unknown  evils. 
And  yet  there  was  one  whom  he  might  choose, 
like  Marcellus  her  cousin  (or  almost  a  cousin) , 
and  when  she  thought  what  life  would  mean 
to  her  as  his  wife  she  felt  herself  brave  enough 
to  climb  to  her  father's  knee  as  in  her  child- 
hood and  drawing  his  massive  head  close  to 
her  lips  whisper  her  lover's  name.  Suddenly, 
as  the  determination  grew  strong  within  her, 
she  heard  it  shouted  joyously  by  the  servants 
of  the  villa. 

"  Antonius,  Antonius !  Salve,  salve!  Now 
we  shall  have  happy  days  for  Antonius  has 
returned." 

She  sprang  to  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace 
and  saw  him  striding  rapidly  up  the  steep 
path.  He  had  discarded  his  toga  and  wore 
the  simple  tunic  of  the  islanders,  displaying 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  75 

to  advantage  the  slender  but  well-knit  figure, 
which  in  its  graceful  alertness  resembled  the 
Greek  rather  than  the  Roman  type. 

It  was  two  years  since  they  had  parted,  and 
he  had  matured;  his  face  had  more  of  intelli- 
gence and  distinction,  but  the  same  ardent  eyes 
and  mobile  mouth  whose  curves  responded  in- 
stantly to  every  wave  of  feeling.  Intense  and 
unrestrained,  those  feelings  could  express 
themselves  passionately  and  eloquently  in 
language,  for  he  inherited  both  the  tempera- 
ment and  the  talents  of  his  father,  Mark 
Antony,  while  in  face  and  form  he  reproduced 
the  striking  beauty  of  his  mother,  the  fervid 
Fulvia. 

Julia  threw  herself  upon  his  neck  sobbing 
her  delight,  while  he  kissed  her  forehead,  call- 
ing her  "  little  sister,  little  queen,"  and  all  the 
pet  names  of  their  childhood. 

Octavia,  the  deserted  second  wife  of  Mark 
Antony,  had  borne  her  sorrows  with  a  sweet 
and  forgiving  spirit  and  had  even  adopted 
the  children  of  her  roving  husband,  bringing 
them  up  with  iVIarcellus  and  Marcella,  her 
own  son  and  daughter  by  her  first  marriage. 

So  unbounded  was  the  tenderness  of  this 
loving  woman  that  it  had  overflowed  to  Julia, 
her  brother's  motherless  daughter,  who  escaped 


76         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

on  every  possible  occasion  from  her  own  un- 
congenial home,  to  that  of  her  aunt.  But 
Octavia's  beautiful  character  which  radiated 
unselfishness  and  affection  was  most  unfor- 
tunate for  her  niece  who,  possibly  because 
lulus  Antonius  was  in  no  way  related  to  her, 
perversely  loved  him  best  of  all.  As  for  An- 
tonius he  had  always  loved  her.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  the  boy  might  have  had  excuse  for 
ambitious  hopes,  for  in  the  days  of  the  triumvi- 
rate Augustus  and  INIark  Antony  had  sealed 
their  friendship  by  pledging  their  children  in 
marriage.  But  when,  infatuated  by  Cleo- 
patra, Antony  had  j^roved  himself  a  traitor 
to  Octavia  and  to  Rome  it  was  inevitable  that 
the  engagement  between  Julia  and  lulus  An- 
tonius should  be  forfeited. 

Augustus  bore  no  rancour  to  the  son  of  the 
man  who  had  wronged  him,  and  magnan- 
imously planned  for  him  a  brilliant  legal 
career,  sending  him,  at  the  time  of  Julia's 
marriage  to  Marcellus,  to  study  at  Athens. 
But  previous  to  this,  with  a  strange  obtuse- 
ness  as  to  what  might  result,  he  had  made  no 
change  in  his  sister's  domestic  arrangements, 
allowing  Julia  to  enjoy  with  the  mixed  family 
an  intimacy  as  close  as  that  of  brothers  and 
sisters. 


The  Soncr  of  the  Sirens  77 


'£3 


It  was  of  their  childhood  that  they  now 
talked,  of  roaming  together,  over  the  heauti- 
ful  island,  climbing  its  heights,  or  circling  its 
picturesque  coast  in  tiny  rowboats,  of  explor- 
ing the  grottoes,  of  fishing,  swimming,  and 
watching  the  games  of  old  Greece,  still  prac- 
tised by  the  descendants  of  the  early  Greek 
settlers. 

On  account  of  his  expertness  in  their  sports 
the  young  Capriotes  had  constituted  Antonius 
their  leader.  It  pleased  him  to  excel  and  his 
eyes  shone  as  JuHa  rehearsed  his  boyish 
triumphs. 

"  You  were  always  a  redoubtable  little  an- 
tagonist," he  said,  "  whether  in  running, 
swimming,  or  in  our  studies.  I  remember, 
too,  that  once  when  we  were  visiting  at  Livia's 
villa  and  she  gave  each  of  us  boys  game-cock 
quails,  you  insisted  on  having  one  also  to 
match  with  mine.  And  what  a  baby  IVIar- 
cellus  was,  for  he  cried  when  his  was  killed 
by  that  of  Tiberius." 

"  Marcellus  was  always  like  that,"  Julia  re- 
plied. "  He  would  have  kept  the  heart  of  a 
child  if  he  had  lived  a  hundred  years " 

"And  yet  they  married  you  to  that  boy! 
The  gods  send  when  next  you  are  wedded  it 
be  to  a  man." 


78         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Julia  looked  at  him  askance.  "  What  do 
you  say  to  Tiberius?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  said  a  man,  not  a  beast,"  he  cried, 
"  though  what  a  handsome  brute  he  has  grown ! 
And  you,  Julia,  how  marriage  has  changed 
vou!  You  were  a  child  when  I  went  and  now 
you  are  a  woman,  a  goddess !  " 

She  laughed  softly.  "You  are  changed 
too,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  your  marriage  that  made  a  man 
of  me.  I  was  your  brother  till  then,  but  when 
they  wrote  me  at  Athens  that  I  could  never 
be  anything  else,  I  woke  to  the  knowledge  of 
a  man's  love  and  despair.  I  came  back  to 
Rome  when  I  learned  that  you  were  widowed, 
only  to  find  that  your  father  had  shut  you 
away  from  the  world  as  completely  as  if  you 
were  a  vestal.  But  that  is  over  now.  They 
tell  me  that  you  are  to  be  welcomed  back 
to  the  Palatine  with  a  great  festival  and 
that  the  lists  are  open  to  suitors  for  your 
hand.  So  here  I  am  to  enter  my  name  first 
of  all." 

"  No,  not  the  first,"  she  retorted  teasingly, 
and  when  he  besought  the  names  of  his  rivals 
refused  to  speak  of  them,  commanding  him  to 
tell  her  of  his  student-life  at  Athens.  "  Is  it 
true,"    she    asked,    "  that    you   have    devoted 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  79 

yourself  with  entire  singleness  of  purpose  to 
the  study  of  law?  " 

"  I  have  worked,"  he  admitted,  "  but  with 
a  divided  heart,  for  political  jurisprudence  is 
not  my  only  mistress." 

"  Some  fair  Greek  woman,  perhaps,  shares 
your  affection." 

"  Nine  Julia,  the  Muses — the  world  will 
know  me  one  day  as  a  poet." 

"  Like  Virgil,  Horace,  or  Tibullus?  " 

"  Like  none  of  these,  though  Horace  has 
praised  my  verses.  I  have  taken  the  pas- 
sionate Catullus  as  my  master,  but  I  am  of  a 
younger  generation,  of  a  class  of  men  who 
stand  for  freer  thought  and  life.  Have  you 
read  the  poems  of  Ovid?  He  was  my  most 
intimate  friend  at  Athens,  where  he  was  sent 
by  Messala,  who  loved  him  for  his  elegy  on 
Tibullus.  He  is  the  leader  of  the  new  school, 
and  is  already  famous  in  Rome." 

"  We  are  not  so  ignorant  at  Capri  as  you 
seem  to  think.  I  have  not  only  heard  of 
Ovid  but  have  heard  him,  for  he  is  at  my 
father's  villa.  He  came  down  with  Tiberius, 
who  employs  him  to  write  his  letters." 

"  And  he  writes  them  to  you?  " 

She  nodded  mischievously.  "  I  told  you, 
you  were  not  the  first." 


\ 


X- 


80         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  Julia,"  he  cried  angrily,  "  are  they  trying 
to  marry  you  to  Tiberius?" 

Her  cheek  burned  and  she  answered  bitterly, 
"  You  must  have  known  they  would." 

"  And  you  do  not  love  him? "  he  asked 
jealously. 

"  Love  him !      I   would  kill  myself  rather  I 

than  be  his  wife." 

"  Then,"  he  asked,  "if  vour  father  will  ac- 
cept  me  as  his  son-in-law, — and  there  is  no  rea- 
son why  he  should  not,  for  I  am  of  as  good 
blood  as  Tiberius, — would  you  marry  me, 
Julia?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried  eagerly  and  then,  as 
he  folded  her  close,  she  added  less  flatter- 
ingly, "  I  would  marry  any  one  to  escape 
from  Tiberius." 

The  danger  was  so  imminent  that  she  could 
take  little  comfort  in  the  assurances  of  An- 
tonius  that  the  Emperor  would  approve  his 
suit.  "  If  it  rested  with  him  alone,"  she 
said  thoughtfully,  "  my  father  might,  indeed, 
prefer  you  to  Tiberius.  But  the  situation  is 
not  so  simple,  for  there  is  Livia." 

There  indeed  was  Livia,  Julia's  stepmother, 
whose  influence,  relentlessly  malign,  could  by 
no  means  be  discounted.  For  the  family  of 
Augustus,  like  that   of  his   sister,   had  been 


! 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  8i 

rendered  complex  by  former  marriages  on  both 
sides — but  unlike  Octavia,  Livia  had  not  been 
able  to  estabhsh  harmony  between  her  two 
sons,  Tiberius  and  Drusus,  and  the  Emperor's 
daughter. 

It  was  not  Livia's  fault  that  this  was  the 
case,  for  though  her  heart  was  centred  upon 
Tiberius  with  such  intensity  that  her  sole  pur- 
pose in  life,  the  one  for  which  she  cajoled  and 
intrigued  (and  possibly  sinned),  was  to  se- 
cure to  him  the  succession  of  the  Empire,  she 
realised  that  this  end  could  only  be  attained 
through  his  marriage  with  Julia,  and  with 
politic  hypocrisy  she  had  endeavoured  to  win 
the  girl's  affection. 

But  between  these  two  children,  brother  and 
sister  in  name  alone,  there  had  existed  from 
the  first  moment  of  their  association  a  mutual 
repulsion,  deepening,  as  they  grew  to  know 
each  other  more  thoroughly,  into  detestation 
on  the  part  of  Julia  and  malignant  hatred 
on  that  of  Tiberius.  Of  utterly  uncongenial 
tastes,  they  were  alike  only  in  the  stubbornness 
which  pitted  them  against  each  other,  and  vio- 
lent outbreaks  were  only  avoided  by  keeping 
them  as  much  as  possible  from  each  other's 
company. 

Augustus,  who  loved  his  wafe  deeply  and 


82         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

knew  how  her  heart  was  set  upon  the  union 
of  their  children,  would  from  the  first  have 
given  her  ambition  the  support  of  his  author- 
ity but  for  his  desire  to  establish  the  Julian 
dynasty  in  the  succession  of  his  nephew  INIar- 
cellus.  The  death  of  this  beloved  prince,  from 
whom  so  much  had  been  hoped,  removed  an 
otherwise  insurmountable  obstacle  to  Livia's 
hopes.  Her  opportunity  had  come  again,  and 
it  would  not  be  neglected. 

A  silence  had  fallen  upon  the  young  lovers 
at  the  mention  of  her  name,  broken  first  by 
Antonius. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  "  what  a  pity  that  you 
are  not  the  daughter  of  a  peasant,  but  must 
be  fought  and  plotted  for,  yes,  and  bartered 
as  though  you  w^ere  a  province." 

"  Rather  more  than  one  province,  my 
Antonius,"  Julia  replied  drily. 

"  Well,  twenty  provinces  if  you  will.  Does 
the  number  make  the  transaction  less  com- 
mercial? " 

It  was  on  her  lip  to  make  some  sarcastic 
rejoinder  but  she  was  silent,  and  he  continued, 
"  Has  Livia  annoyed  you  long?  " 

"Yes,  ever  since Marcellus  sickened.  I  knew 
the  meaning  of  her  fawning  hypocritical  sym- 
pathy even   before   he   died, — but   it  is   only 


I 

r 

I 


The  Sono^  of  the  Sirens  83 


'& 


lately  that  she  has  frankly  besought  me  to 
marry  Tiberius.  I  told  her  that  I  could  never 
care  for  him,  and  she  gave  me  a  love-potion. 
'  Brew  this,'  she  said,  '  over  a  lamp,  and  drink 
it  with  my  son,  and  you  will  love  each  other 
madly.'  It  seems  that  she  procured  it  from 
the  sorceress  Canidia,  who  assured  her  that  it 
was  never  known  to  fail.  With  it  Nemesis 
bewitched  even  the  faithful  Tibullus  so  that 
he  forsook  Sulpicia." 

"  You  did  not  obey  her?  " 

"  No,  but  lest  she  administer  it  to  me  un- 
awares, I  shall  feign  to  do  so.  I  will  make 
a  decoction  of  saffron  which  I  will  drink  with 
Tiberius ; — and  oh,  Antonius, — the  thought  has 
just  come  to  me, — you  and  I  will  pledge  each 
other  in  the  real  philtre,  and  if  it  is  of  such 
power  as  she  vaunts  nothing  henceforth  can 
part  us  from  each  other." 

She  brought  a  tiny  tripod  upon  which  she 
set  the  phial,  and  lighting  a  lamp  beneath  it 
they  watched  the  potion  bubble  while  they 
discussed  plan  after  plan  only  to  abandon 
each  as  inadequate. 

"  Whom  can  we  oppose  to  your  stepmother 
as  our  advocate  with  the  Emperor?  "  Antonius 
mused.  "  There  is  Octavia,  she  would  surely 
take  my  part." 


84         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  Livia  has  gained  a  strange  influence  over 
my  aunt,"  Julia  replied.  "  She  has  feigned 
an  intense  interest  in  Marcella  for  whom  she 
is  negotiating  a  great  marriage.  Octavia  is 
fond  of  us,  but  she  is  a  mother,  she  loves  best 
her  own  flesh  and  blood.  She  will  not  ruin 
Marcella's  future  by  offending  Livia,  and 
though  my  father  cherishes  for  his  sister  a  very 
tender  affection  he  has  no  confidence  in  her 
judgment,  and  would  never  be  guided  by  her 
in  such  a  matter." 

"  If  INIsecenas  were  not  superseded  as  his 
councillor  he  would  aid  me.  He  was  my 
father's  friend,  and  arranged  his  marriage 
with  Octavia,  but  alas,  M^cenas  has  retired 
from  public  affairs  to  his  villa  on  the  Esquiline 
to  the  society  of  Virgil  and  Horace,  and  Au- 
gustus is  completely  ruled  by  Agrippa." 

Julia  sprang  to  her  feet  with  such  vehemence 
that  she  overturned  the  little  lamp  and  the 
liquid  was  spilled. 

"  The  potion  is  lost,"  she  said  regretfully, 
"  but  no  matter,  it  had  a  most  disagreeable 
odour,  and  we  shall  not  need  it,  for  the  vapour 
alone  may  have  put  into  my  mind  the  name 
of  the  good  genius  who  will  smooth  the  way 
to  our  desires." 

"And  who  is  he?" 


mm^^'nmm* 


'■fgjf'i^ 


Love  in  Idleness 

From  the   painting   by   Alma    Tadema.     By  permission    of   Berlin 

Photographic  Co. 


t^ 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  85 

She  whirled  him  about  so  that  he  faced  the 
entrancing  prospect.  "  Tell  me  what  you  see 
over  yonder! "  she  exclaimed  excitedly. 

The  attention  of  Antonius  was  instantly 
arrested  by  a  vessel  making  its  way  toward 
Capri  from  the  naval  station  of  Misenum. 

"  The  admiral's  flag-ship,"  he  repHed.  "  I 
can  make  out  the  vexillum  cceruleum  of 
Agrippa,  with  the  dolphins  on  its  sea-green 
field." 

"  Precisely,  and  my  father  will  deny  him 
nothing.  We  will  ask  Agrippa  to  intercede 
for  us." 

"Agrippa!  Have  you  forgotten  Actium 
— that  it  was  he  who  defeated  my  father  and 
drove  him  to  suicide?" 

"  And  for  that  very  reason  he  will  aid 
Mark  Antony's  innocent  son,  for  Agrippa  is 
just.  Moreover  we  ask  him  at  a  fortunate 
time,  for  the  happy  long  to  make  others  so. 
He  comes  to  Capri  to  consummate  his  mar- 
riage with  INIarcella." 

"Marcella!"  Antonius  repeated,  as  though 
bewildered. 

"  Yes,  Agrippa  is  the  famed  bridegroom 
whom  Livia  has  secured  for  our  little 
sister." 

"  But  Marcella  is  only  a  child,  and  he  is  a 


86         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

widower,  the  father  of  a  daughter  fully  as 
old  as  she." 

"  Of  Vipsania,  Marcella's  dearest  friend ; 
but  Agrippa,  though  he  is  the  real  power 
behind  my  father's  throne,  is  but  thirty-seven, 
a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  Marcella  is 
of  marriageable  age.  It  is  a  great  match  for 
her,  no  wonder  that  my  aunt  is  overjoyed." 

"And  Marcella — is  she  overjoyed  also?" 

"  The  little  fool  weeps  day  and  night,  as 
though  she  were  to  be  thrown  to  the  Minotaur. 
One  would  fancy  that  she  was  in  love  with 
some  one  else,  but  that  is  impossible." 

Antonius  was  silent;  and  Julia  continued, 
"  I  must  go  to  her  and  prepare  her  to  meet 
her  future  husband." 

"  Nay,  come  with  me  for  a  little  row  in 
the  skiff  that  is  fastened  down  yonder — to 
the  Isle  of  Idleness  where  we  have  fished 
from  the  rocks  so  often.  I  do  not  care  to 
meet  Agrippa,  besides  we  have  made  no 
definite  plans,  and  who  knows  when  we 
may  have  another  opportunity  to  talk 
together." 

They  descended  to  the  beach  and  Antonius 
took  the  oars,  but  instead  of  crossing  to  the 
islet  they  followed  the  coast,  which  grew  more 
and  more  precipitous  as  they  approached  the 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  87 

tremendous  cliff  still  crowned  by  the  ruins  of 
the  villa  of  Tiberius. 

At  its  foot  the  rocks  made  a  natural  break- 
water sheltering  a  deep  pool,  into  which,  when 
the  tide  was  at  its  flow,  the  surges  rushed  like 
wild  animals,  stampeded  within  the  narrowing 
walls  of  some  enclosure,  and  finding  no  out- 
let dashed  madly  around  to  the  entrance  to 
meet  the  incoming  waves  in  wild  confusion. 

Very  different  w^as  its  aspect  at  low  tide, 
which  had  given  the  pool  the  name  of  the 
Siren's  Mirror,  for  then,  shut  off  by  the  rocks 
from  the  turbulent  sea,  its  mysterious  waters 
lay  black  and  smooth  as  a  Claude  Lorraine 
glass,  reflecting  the  cliff  which  seemed  to 
descend  to  illimitable  depths. 

It  was  low  tide  now,  and  Julia  begged 
Antonius  to  allow  her  a  nearer  view  of  the 
pool.  "  They  say,"  she  said,  "  that  some  have 
seen  portents  pictured  on  its  surface,  but  never 
their  own  faces." 

This  was  quite  true,  for  the  position  of  the 
rocks  made  it  impossible  to  look  directly  down, 
and  the  beholder  perceived  objects  reflected  at 
an  angle. 

Antonius  saw  Julia's  face,  her  dusky  hair 
melting  into  the  shadows,  but  her  eyes  clear 
and  shining  gazing  into  the  depths  of  his  soul 


1 


88         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

and  her  red  lips  parted  in  eager  expectancy. 
He  continued  to  gaze  silently,  hungrily,  as  he 
had  not  dared  to  look  to-day  into  the  eyes 
themselves. 

The  impatient  tap  of  her  foot  broke  the 
spell.     "What  do  you  see?"  she  asked. 

"  The  Siren,"  he  replied,  "  with  waving 
arms  and  an  all-compelling  smile  which  draws 
me  almost  beyond  my  power  to  resist." 

"  Then  come   away   at  once,"   Julia   cried,  | 

"  or  you  will  lose  your  hold  and  fall  into 
the  pool." 

"  It  is  glamourie,"  he  said,  staggering  back. 
"  She  had  a  confident  look,  as  one  might  say, 
*  Go  now,  but  I  shall  claim  you  by  and  by.'     I  . 

have  a  premonition  that  I  shall  meet  my  death  | 

in  that  pool." 

"What  has  come  over  you  Antonius?  I 
never  saw  j^ou  like  this.  See,  I  will  kill  your 
Siren,"  and  Julia  tossed  a  stone  into  the  pool. 
"  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  look  and  I  shall 
report  a  more  propitious  omen."  But  the 
startled  girl  crept  to  his  side  silent  and  awe- 
struck for  what  she  saw  was  the  figure  of  a 
man  circling  rapidly  in  the  rippling  pool,  not 
with  the  vigorous  movements  of  a  swimmer, 
but  inert  as  the  corpse  of  one  drowned,  with 
ghastly  face   and   protruding,  terror-stricken 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  89 

eyes.  Round  and  round  it  swirled  as  though 
driven  by  the  whirlpool  and  though  the  fea- 
tures were  distorted  they  were  unmistakably 
those  of  Antonius.  She  clung  to  him  and 
it  was  his  turn  to  soothe  and  encourage. 
"  Something  tells  me,"  she  said,  "  that  our 
love  will  bring  us  unhappiness.  Will  you 
love  me  as  now,  Antonius,  no  matter  what 
may  happen? " 

"  Always,  beloved,  and  if  the  Siren  that  I 
saw  in  the  pool  calls  me  to  death,  I  will  go 
gladly,  for  she  had  your  face." 

Julia  did  not  reply,  but  her  look  of  deep 
content  satisfied  him.  Glancing  upward  a 
moment  later  her  attention  was  attracted  by 
the  entrance  to  a  cavern  high  on  the  face  of 
the  precipice.  "  I  have  always  longed  to  ex- 
plore that  grotto,"  she  said,  "  probably  be- 
cause it  is  impossible  to  do  so,  for  the  forbidden 
has  always  had  for  me  the  most  intense 
attraction." 

Antonius  pointed  to  a  path  which  zigzagged 
from  the  shore.  "  It  is  not  absolutely  inacces- 
sible," he  said,  "  Tiberius  and  I  climbed  to  it 
years  ago.  There  is  the  path.  I  believe  you 
could  manage  it,  for  you  are  as  sure-footed  as 
a  wild-goat.  I  will  knot  my  girdle  to  yours 
and  pull  you  up  after  me.     But  the  descent 


90         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

will  be  more  difficult,  perhaps  you  would 
better  not  venture." 

"  I  am  in  a  reckless  mood  to-day,  Antonius. 
If  you  love  me  let  me  do  it.  We  will  climb 
to  the  cavern.  If  we  cannot  come  down,  so 
much  the  better.  They  will  not  be  able  to 
separate  us  and  we  shall  die  together." 

Antonius  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  As  you 
will,"  he  replied,  and  began  the  ascent. 

Breathless,  and  with  flushed  faces,  they 
reached  their  goal,  an  ancient  grotto-temple, 
mysteriously  shado\^y  and  refreshingly  cool. 
An  altar  of  white  marble  exquisitely  carved 
stood  on  the  very  verge  of  the  overhanging 
cHff. 

This  circumstance  seemed  to  be  proof  that 
the  Sirens  themselves  were  the  deities  placated 
here  by  the  early  Greek  settlers.  Possibly 
when  storms  raged  upon  the  strait  the  wives 
and  mothers  of  mariners  lighted  a  flame  upon 
this  altar  to  serve  the  double  purpose  of  a 
beacon  to  the  voyagers  and  an  oblation  that 
would  persuade  the  Sirens  to  cease  the  sing- 
ing which  only  Ulysses  could  hear  and  resist. 

"  And  even  he  could  not  have  done  so," 
Julia  reminded  Antonius,  "  if  his  companions, 
who  had  stopped  their  own  ears  with  wax,  had 
not  bound  him  to  the  mast.     What  did  thev 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  91 

sing,  Antonius?  You,  who  are  a  poet,  should 
be  able  to  tell  us  the  words  of  their  song." 

"  A  capital  theme!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Have 
patience  for  a  moment  and  I  will  tell  you." 

He  took  a  tablet  from  his  bosom,  and  she 
watched  him  admiringly  as  he  rapidly  wrote, 
and  in  the  flush  of  creative  enthusiasm  read  to 
her  the  verses  which  she  had  inspired : 

With  billowing  canvas  on  the  wine-dark  seas 
Ulysses'  galley  rides,  while  wafted  o'er 
A  cadence  flows  and  falls  from  ofif  the  shore 

Like  scent  among  the  blossoming  almond  trees, 

Wafted  and  wasted  by  the  wanton  breeze. 

"Draw  near,  O  Greek,"  the  Sirens  sweet  implore, 
"  For  thou  shalt  learn  infinitude  of  lore. 

And  slake  thy  heart-thirst  in  our  melodies." 

His  deafened  comrades  loose  the  swelling  sail, 
Against  his  will  he  passes  by  secure, 

Lashed  to  the  mast  but  struggling  to  be  free. 
While  vague  as  perfume  floats  the  dying  wail, 
The  spell  resisted  claims  its  forfeiture 
Of  life  for  love  from  Queen  Parthenope. 

"  Set  the  song  to  music,"  he  entreated.  "  I 
shall  coast  the  island  for  a  few  days,  and  if 
you  will  sing  it  to  me  you  have  but  to  light 
a  fire  upon  this  altar  and  I  will  come  to  you." 

"  If  I  needed  you,"  she  mused,  "  it  might 


92         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

not  be  possible  for  me  to  clamber  to  this  almost 
inaccessible  spot." 

"  True,  and  the  islet  in  front  of  Octavia's 
villa  is  a  much  better  rendezvous.  No  one 
ever  goes  there  but  that  little  Greek,  Mas- 
gabas,  who  lies  all  day  upon  the  rocks  ap- 
parently doing  nothing  but  dreaming.  Your 
father  noted  him  and  named  his  favourite 
haunt  the  Isle  of  Idleness.  In  reality,  he  is 
not  so  idle  as  he  seems,  but  is  watching 
his  nets.  He  is  devoted  to  me.  I  will  ar- 
range with  him  a  system  of  signalling  by 
waving  torches.  It  will  never  be  suspected, 
for  he  is  accustomed  to  spear  fish  by  torch- 
light. Then,  whenever  you  are  at  the  villa  I 
can  communicate  with  you." 

Julia  had  been  humming  abstractedly  an  old 
tune. 

"  There  is  a  little  boat  down  yonder.  I 
wonder  if  the  tall  man  in  the  stern  who  is 
looking  this  way  could  hear  my  voice.  I  will 
sing  your  Siren  song  now,"  and  clear  and 
sweet  the  words  rang  out  and  the  listener 
heard  them  distinctly  as  he  gazed : 

"  Draw  near,  draw  near,  .  .  . 
And  slake  thy  heart-thirst  in  our  melodies." 

The  stranger  in  the  boat  waved  his  hand. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  93 

and  the  rowers  made  directly  for  the  shore. 
Jiiha  retreated  precipitately  into  the  cavern. 
"  I  have  been  too  successful,"  she  said.  "  I 
believe  he  is  preparing  to  scale  the  cliff.  Is 
there  no  other  way  out?" 

"  One  formerly  existed,"  replied  Antonius. 
*'  This  grotto  is  only  one  of  a  series  which 
extend  far  into  the  heart  of  the  cliff,  and  from 
the  last  there  is  a  subterranean  stairway  which 
leads  to  the  summit.  It  was  the  way  the  de- 
votees descended  to  their  temple.  But  your 
father,  when  he  forbade  the  Siren-cult,  had  the 
passage  choked  and  the  little  temple  to  Jove 
is  built  at  its  upper  outlet." 

"  Let  us  explore  the  inner  caverns,"  Julia 
insisted,  "  at  least  we  can  hide  there  from  this 
inquisitive  stranger." 

The  light  from  the  outer  grotto  was  reflected 
dimly  by  the  stalactite-hung  walls  and  Julia, 
darting  in  advance  of  Antonius,  presently 
reached  the  stairway.  Here  she  was  arrested 
by  the  sound  of  footsteps ;  an  instant  later  the 
light  of  a  torch  showed  a  dark  figure  descend- 
ing the  staircase  and  Tiberius  appeared  in  the 
arched  entrance.  He  was  the  first  to  recover 
from  the  surprise  of  the  encounter. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  asked,  then 
catching  sight  of  Antonius  he  continued,  "  I 


94         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

need  not  ask.  So  this  is  the  wife  whom  my 
mother  has  chosen  for  me,  and  whom  I  have 
refused  to  marry!  Yes,  it  is  as  well  for  you 
to  know  that  I  have  already  refused,  that  I 
so  hate  you,  that  were  you  as  chaste  as  your 
father  thinks  you,  not  even  the  bribe  of  the 
Empire  could  induce  me  to  make  you  my 
wife." 

Julia  regarded  him  with  scorn.  "  You  can- 
not hate  me  as  much  as  I  hate  you,  Tiberius. 
Your  refusal  of  mv  hand  is  the  first  act  of 
yours  which  has  ever  pleased  me.  I  cannot 
conceive  of  any  woman  so  wretched  as  to  be 
willing  to  marry  you." 

"  There  is  one,"  he  cried,  "  in  every  way 
nobler  than  yourself, — Vipsania,  the  daughter 
of  Agrippa;  she  loves  me  as  I  do  her,  and  I 
thank  my  protecting  genius  that  I  have  found 
you  out,  shameless  one,  for  I  shall  have  another 
reason  to  offer  your  father  for  declining  the 
honour  of  your  hand.  Fortunately  I  have 
companions  at  hand  to  bear  witness  to  what 
is  happening  here.  Ovid,  come  hither  and 
declare  that  the  letters  which  I  had  you  write 
and  w^hich  my  mother  sent  to  Julia  were  in- 
tended not  for  her  but  for  Vipsania.  Mark 
well  also  in  whose  company  I  now  find  the 
Princess." 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  95 

Antonius  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of 
rage,  but  a  firm  grasp  from  behind  held  him 
as  in  a  trap,  and  an  authoritative  voice  ad- 
dressed the  frightened  Ovid  whose  pale  face 
now  appeared  over  the  shoulder  of  Tiberius. 

"  Yes,  Publius  Ovidius,  it  is  indeed  fortu- 
nate that  you  are  here,  and  that  lulus  An- 
tonius and  I  should  both  have  been  with  the 
Princess  when  the  fancy  struck  her  to  ex- 
plore this  interesting  cavern,  as  otherwise  her 
chance  meeting  with  Tiberius  might  have  had 
the  appearance  of  a  rendezvous." 

Tiberius  gazed  with  speechless  stupefaction 
at  Agrippa,  for  it  was  the  great  vice-regent, 
who,  responding  to  the  call  of  the  Siren,  had 
so  opportunely  appeared  in  Julia's  defence. 
Gratitude  and  a  consciousness  of  detection  was 
evident  in  the  flush  which  mantled  the  face 
of  Antonius,  and  Julia's  self-possession  alone 
matched  that  of  Agrippa. 

She  laughed  provokingly  at  the  discomfiture 
of  Tiberius.  "  He  would  hardly  have  been  so 
frank,"  she  said  to  Agrippa,  "  had  he  known 
that  the  man  whom  he  desired  as  a  father-in- 
law  was  listening  to  his  fervid  declarations." 

"  On  that  very  account  I  cannot  doubt  their 
honesty,"  Agrippa  replied  kindly.  "  If  my 
daughter  indeed  reciprocates  your  affection. 


96         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Tiberius,  I  will  speak  to  Augustus  on  your 
behalf  and  neither  the  Princess  nor  you  need 
fear  that  you  will  be  forced  into  a  marriage 
in  regard  to  which  you  have  expressed  such 
unanimity  of  feeling." 

Agrippa  drew  Julia's  arm  within  his  own 
with  a  smile,  and  remarking  that  the  staircase 
seemed  a  less  difficult  means  of  egress  than 
the  way  by  which  they  had  entered,  requested 
Antonius  to  order  his  sailors  not  to  await  his 
return. 

As  the  young  man  turned  to  execute  the 
errand,  the  Admiral  recalled  him.  "  As  you 
will  reach  the  villa  of  Octavia  before  me,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  trouble  you  to  deliver  this  letter 
to  Marcella." 

Antonius  scowled  and  Agrippa  added  an 
aside  which  Julia  did  not  hear.  She  waved 
her  hand  gaily  to  her  lover  in  farewell  but 
he  stood  staring  at  the  letter  like  one 
bewildered. 

The  staircase  debouched  in  a  cellar  beneath 
the  lighthouse  where  Agrippa  took  leave  of 
Tiberius  and  Ovid  and  as  Julia  walked 
homeward  under  his  escort  her  heart  swelled 
with  a  gratitude  which  was  almost  affection. 

"  I  have  not  half  thanked  you,"  she  said,  as 
she  nestled   confidingly  closer.      "  You  have 


The  Song-  of  the  Sirens  97 


"& 


saved  me  from  two  dreadful  things,  a  loveless 
marriage  and  a  ruined  reputation." 

He  did  not  disclaim  the  truth  of  her  asser- 
tion. "  Innocence  is  always  daring,"  he  said 
kindly,  "  it  forgets  that  the  evil-minded  re- 
gard the  opportunity  of  wrong-doing  as  proof 
that  it  has  been  done." 

"  I  have  had  my  lesson,"  she  replied  meekly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you  still  further,"  he 
added. 

"  I  was  wondering  if  I  dared  ask  for 
further  intercession  with  my  father,"  Julia 
answered. 

"Why  do  you  not  go  directly  to  him?" 

"  Because  he  is  so  stern,  so  unloving,  and 
so  good.  You  are  so  different.  I  wish  j^ou 
were  my  father." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  I  am  thankful 
I  am  not,"  he  retorted  quickly. 

"  Because  I  am  such  a  wilful  daughter?  " 
she  frowned. 

"  You  are  perfect.  Never  mind  the  reason 
if  it  does  not  occur  to  you.  What  were  you 
thinking  of  asking  me  to  mention  to  your 
father?" 

"  I — no — it  is  Antonius  who  ought  to  ask 
you,  not  I." 

"  Oh!     It  regards  Antonius  then.     I  think 


98         Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

I  can  guess.  You  have  a  very  sisterly  affec- 
tion for  him,  have  you  not? " 

She  nodded  eagerly. 

"  That  is  quite  natural,  for  he  and  Mar- 
cellus  were  stepbrothers.  Marcella  has  just 
confessed  to  me  how  lovable  he  is." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me ! ''  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have 
forgotten  to  congratulate  you.  INIarcella  has 
her  mother's  gentle  character,  she  will  be  a 
model  wife." 

"  Doubtless,  but  not  mine,  so  you  made  no 
mistake  in  withholding  your  felicitations." 

"Are  you  not  to  marry  Marcella?  My 
stepmother  told  me  that  the  solemn  betrothal 
had  taken  place,  and  she  seemed  greatly 
pleased." 

"  The  august  Livia  desired  also  that  you 
should  become  the  wife  of  her  son.  This  is 
a  day  of  disappointment  for  her,  and  of  sur- 
prise for  many.  I  will  confide  to  you  that 
my  affianced  bride  has  confessed  to  me  that 
she  loves  Antonius;  after  that  I  had  no  choice 
but  to  set  her  free." 

"  Antonius !  "  Julia  exclaimed  in  consterna- 
tion, "Marcella  loves  Antonius!  Why,  they 
have  been  brought  up  as  brother  and  sister." 

"  Which  quite  explains  their  affection  for 
each  other.     I  thought  you  knew  it,  that  the 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  99 

favour  you  wished  me  to  ask  of  the  Emperor 
was  his  consent  to  their  marriage." 

"But  Antonius  does  not  love  her,"  JuHa 
asserted  authoritatively. 

"  He  has  made  love  to  her  for  the  past  year," 
Agrippa  replied,  "  as  no  man  of  honour  could 
do  unless  he  were  in  earnest." 

The  tears  were  almost  bursting  from  her 
eyes  and  her  heart  was  throbbing  tumul- 
tuously,  but  she  controlled  herself  proudly. 
"I  do  not  believe  it,"  she  said.  "This  is 
only  a  romantic  dream  of  poor  Marcella's. 
Antonius  has  never  once  hinted  to  me  that 
he  cared  for  her,  and  we  have  been " 

He  finished  her  sentence  for  her.  "  Brought 
up  like  brother  and  sister,"  he  said  quietly. 

She  flung  herself  from  him  angrily  and 
stood  looking  down  at  the  "  Isle  of  Idleness," 
where  Masgabas  was  lazily  placing  some 
cedar  torches  in  his  fishing  boat. 

Agrippa  did  not  appear  to  notice  her  emo- 
tion. "  It  is  a  most  suitable  marriage,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will 
approve  of  it  when  you  think  it  over.  Au- 
gustus has  given  his  consent  in  the  letter  which 
I  asked  Antonius  to  deliver  to  Marcella.  The 
Emperor's  only  object  in  wedding  me  to  his 
niece  was  to  show  his  affection  for  me  and  to 


100       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

bind  me  more  closely  to  him,  as  though  that 
were  possible.  But  when  I  dared  to  tell  him 
that  my  heart  had  been  long  fixed  upon  an- 
other, my  old  friend  was  not  offended  by  my 
presumption.  '  She  shall  decide,'  he  said, 
and  to  that  I  gave  my  hearty  assent,  for  I 
love  her  too  well  to  compel  her  in  any  wise. 
But  Julia,  tell  me,  by  long  service  and  tender- 
est  consideration,  think  you  I  might  win  her?  " 

She  had  not  heard  a  word  of  what  he  was 
saying.  "  Antonius  does  not  love  her,"  she 
reiterated  with  quivering  lips. 

"Look I"  he  answered,  pointing  downward 
to  the  villa.  On  the  terrace  where  lately  with 
her  lover  she  had  lighted  the  little  lamp 
beneath  the  philtre  he  was  seated  now  with 
Marcella.  They  were  reading  together  the 
Emperor's  letter;  suddenly"  it  fell  from  their 
hands  as  the  two  forms  blended  together  in 
an  embrace  which  seemed  to  the  tortured  Julia 
unending. 

She  shaded  her  face  as  from  the  sun,  and 
looked  steadily  without  a  word  until  by  some 
miracle  of  pride  she  regained  her  bravado. 

"  He  does  not  deserve  her,"  she  said  in  a 
voice  which  she  hardh^  recognised  as  her  own, 
"  nor  for  that  matter  does  Tiberius  deserve 
your  daughter." 


r  ■y.vt.iJXigamCtlitl',-^  iS^'V/V*-' . - 


;-3ii 


THE  VILLA  OF  AUGUSTUS   ON   THE   PRESENT  PUNTA  TRAGARA,    CAPRI 
Restored  by  C.  Weichardt 


The  Sone  of  the  Sirens  loi 


't5 


"  Few  men  deserve  the  women  they  love," 
Agrippa  rephed  gravely,  "  but  you  can  some- 
times make  us  deserve  you;  and  love  is  the 
only  power  that  can  so  transform  us." 

"Love?"  she  said  bitterly,  and  then 
laughed  a  little  mirthless  laugh.  "  Whatever 
the  event,  my  lord  Agrippa,  you  have  proved 
yourself  a  clever  match-maker.  Tiberius  is 
to  have  Vipsania,  and  Antonius,  IMarcella;  but 
you  have  given  no  thought  to  me.  What  I 
ask  you,  is  to  become " 

She  paused  in  wild  surprise  at  something 
incredible  which  she  read  for  the  first  time  in 
his  face. 

"  You  are  wrong,  Julia,"  he  said,  "  from 
the  first  it  has  been  of  you,  and  of  you  only, 
that  I  have  thought." 

II 

THE  bird's  story 

So  what  might  tell  the  tale 
Unless  the  wind  should  tell  it,  or  the  bird 
Who  from  its  cage  the  thing  had  seen  and  heard  ? 

Hark  to  my  Indian  cockatoo, 
To  his  hoop  of  gold  he  clings, 


102       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

How  he  trembles  with  crest  uplifted 
And  shrieks  as  he  madly  swings. 

Oh!  cockatoo  shriek  for  Antony, 

Cry,  "  Come,  my  love,  come  home !  " 
Shriek,  "  Antony,  Antony,  Antony," 
Till  he  hears  you  even  in  Rome. 

William  Wetmorb   Story. 

The  three  marriages  had  taken  place — con- 
ferring temporary  happiness  on  all  concerned 
— with  the  exception  of  Livia,  and  she  could 
bide  her  time. 

Apparently  the  very  happiest  of  all  was 
Julia,  for  stung  by  her  double  rejection  she 
had  displayed  a  feverish  eagerness  in  parading 
her  bliss  before  the  world,  and  particularly 
before  Antonius. 

The  latter  had  shown  a  becoming  melan- 
choly, he  had  even  begged  her  to  permit  him 
to  "  explain  ";  but  Juha  had  silenced  him  with 
a  look  of  proud  disdain.  She  told  herself  that 
she  knew  what  that  explanation  would  be — 
the  necessity  of  submitting  to  the  inevitable. 
He  had  done  so  too  promptly  and  with  too 
good  a  grace  not  to  have  foreseen  the  result. 
She  beheved  that  he  had  deliberately  led  her 
on  to  a  confession  of  her  own  love  knowing 
all  the  while  that  their  marriage  was  impos- 


The  Sonor  of  the  Sirens  103 


'£> 


sible,  and  she  thanked  the  gods  that  had 
opened  her  eyes  enabhng  her  to  estimate  the 
characters  of  Antonius  and  Agrippa  each  at 
their  proper  vahie. 

Her  heart  had  been  caught  in  its  rebound, 
and  her  wounded  pride  was  healed  by  the  adora- 
tion and  pre-eminence  of  her  husband.  For 
she  knew  that,  Emperor's  daughter  though 
she  was,  the  marriage  conferred  more  honour 
upon  her  than  upon  Agrippa. 

The  undisguised  assumption  of  authority  in 
the  man  who  held  the  second  place  in  the 
government  never  roused  the  Emperor's 
jealousy  for  he  knew  that  his  life-long  friend 
was  utterly  devoted  to  his  service,  and  even 
the  insinuations  of  Livia  could  not  shake  his 
absolute  trust. 

It  was  a  friendship  almost  unique  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  dating  from  the  murder 
of  Julius  Csesar  when  his  nephew,  the  young 
Octavius,  set  out  with  this  boy-comrade  to 
fight  for,  and  to  win  through  his  help  the  title 
of  Augustus. 

None  can  hesitate  as  to  the  comparative 
abilities  of  the  two.  It  was  Agrippa  who 
won  the  victories  by  sea  and  land — and  whose 
statesmanship  held  what  had  been  won.  His 
tastes  were  far  more  magnificent  than  those 


104       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  the  Emperor  and  he  displayed  them  with- 
out restraint  in  the  buildings  with  which  he 
endowed  Rome. 

The  Theatre  of  ]Marcellus  had  been  com- 
pleted by  Augustus  in  honour  of  Julia's  first 
marriage  about  the  same  time  that  Agrippa 
recorded  his  dedication  of  the  Pantheon  in 
deep-cut  letters  which  one  may  read  to-day 
above  its  portico.  To  celebrate  his  marriage 
with  Julia,  Agrippa  felt  that  he  must  surpass 
both  of  these  works  and  he  donated  to  the 
city  the  famous  baths  that  completed  the 
great  system  of  waterworks  which  he  had  al- 
ready inaugurated. 

Sternly  repressed  by  her  father,  Julia  found 
herself  suddenly  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere 
of  doting  affection  in  which  her  nature  ex- 
panded like  some  gorgeous  flower.  The  sullen 
girl  developed  into  a  beautiful  and  brilliant 
woman;  cultured  as  well  as  pleasure-loving, 
she  became  not  alone  the  leader  of  society, 
and  toast  of  the  young  bloods,  but  a  patroness 
of  poets  and  artists,  throwing  the  aging  and 
bourgeois  Empress  completely  in  the  shade — 
outrivalling  her  in  wit,  in  aristocratic  bearing, 
in  the  plenitude  of  her  marvellous  beauty,  and 
in  popularity. 

Agrippa  delighted  in  his  wife's  brilliancy, 


< 

a. 

a 
< 


z 
o 

Id 

X 
t- 

z. 
< 

a. 

LJ 
I 

H 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  105 

as  the  owner  of  some  splendid  diamond  might 
gloat  over  its  lustre  and  display  it  for  the 
admiration  of  all  beholders.  Augustus  had 
given  him  the  house  of  INIark  Antony  upon 
the  Palatine,  and  in  everything  but  prestige 
it  became  more  truly  a  palace  than  the  home 
of  the  Emperor. 

Julia  was  empress  in  all  but  name,  and  her 
domestic  life  was  as  happy  as  her  social  posi- 
tion was  pre-eminent.  Four  children  were 
born:  two  boys,  Caius  and  Lucius,  and  two 
girls,  Agrippina  and  Julia.  Augustus  had 
never  before  manifested  such  love  for  his 
daughter,  such  satisfaction  in  her  conduct,  such 
fatherly  tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  he 
published  his  affection  for  his  grandsons  by 
adopting  them,  thus  placing  them  in  line  for 
the  imperial  succession,  a  step  most  gratify- 
ing to  Agrippa,  who,  though  singularly 
disinterested  in  regard  to  himself,  was 
ambitious  for  his  sons.  It  was  the  Em- 
peror's partiality  for  Caius  and  Lucius 
which  was  Livia's  daily  torture,  and  which 
finally  awoke  the  slumbering  rivalry  of 
Tiberius. 

Permitted  to  marry  in  accordance  with  his 
own  desires,  Tiberius  had  grown  less  morose  and 
had  gained  the  good  opinion  of  Augustus.    In 


io6       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  command  of  the  armv,  he  had  shown  marked 
ability,  and  for  a  time  had  contented  himself 
with  this  position,  but  Livia  could  not  accept 
this  lesser  honour  in  lieu  of  the  one  which  she 
coveted  for  her  son.  If  Augustus  had  had  no 
direct  male  descendants,  he  would  have  chosen 
Tiberius  as  his  successor,  but  the  grandsons 
were  safe  in  the  guardianship  of  their  father. 
While  he  and  they  lived  there  was  no  hope  for 
Tiberius,  and  Agrippa  was  in  the  fulness  of 
his  mental  and  physical  powers,  and  would 
probably  outlive  the  Emperor,  his  influence 
with  the  Senate  was  as  absolute  as  with 
Augustus,  his  character  was  unimpeachable, 
known,  and  praised  of  all.  The  situation 
seemed  to  Tiberius  hopeless,  and  Livia  ad- 
mitted that  it  was  so — unless  something  should 
happen  to  Agrippa.  At  that  answer  mother 
and  son  looked  at  each  other,  but  no  further 
word  was  spoken. 

There  is  something  sinister  as  well  as  sub- 
lime in  the  obsession  of  a  mother's  love.  It 
renders  the  timid  and  selfish  capable  of  the 
highest  heroism,  but  can  also  transform  the 
naturally  religious  into  unscrupulous  crimi- 
nals. The  ambition  of  Tiberius  was  calculat- 
ing, it  had  developed  slowly,  attracted  by  the 
possibility  of  success,  and  directed  by  the  mind 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  107 

of  a  tactician  who  undertakes  no  move  in  the 
game  he  is  playing  until  he  understands  its 
bearing  on  the  entire  sequence  of  events. 
Livia's  ambition  had  wakened  with  his  birth, 
unreasoning,  relentless  it  leaped  insurmount- 
able obstacles,  and  never  ceased  until  the  eager 
flame  of  her  life  burned  itself  out. 

They  could  both  wait,  and  Livia  taught  her 
son  to  yield  in  appearance  without  relinquish- 
ing his  indomitable  purpose,  while  he  showed 
her  how  to  take  advantage  of  the  time  of  truce 
by  removing  one  by  one  the  barriers  to 
opportunit}'". 

For  nine  years  Agrippa's  and  Julia's  stars 
waxed  in  brilliancy  and  the  harmony  which 
apparently  existed  between  their  family  and 
that  of  the  Emperor  was  undisturbed.  Cir- 
cumstance favoured  this  armed  peace,  for 
Augustus,  Livia,  and  Tiberius  spent  much 
of  the  time  in  Gaul  while  Agrippa  took  Julia 
and  his  children  with  him  when  for  four  years 
he  regulated  the  affairs  of  the  Orient. 

The  return  of  the  two  families  to  Rome  was 
celebrated  by  a  great  public  festival,  organised 
by  lulus  Antonius,  who  was  now  prretor. 
The  famous  Trojan  games  were  performed 
by  the  knights,  and  Antonius,  who  had  de- 
frayed   the    expense    of    the    entertainment, 


io8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

composed  the  poem  of  welcome  so  lauded  by 
Horace.  The  day  following  this  demonstra- 
tion, Livia  invited  the  relatives  to  a  reunion 
of  a  more  intimate  character  at  her  villa  near 
the  Via  Flaminia. 

Julia  had  not  entered  it  since  her  girlhood; 
but  here  the  Augustan  family  had  spent  much 
of  the  time  when  they  were  supposed  to  be 
in  residence  upon  the  Palatine.  The  Em- 
peror believed  that  children  should  be  brought 
up  simply,  and  in  this  middle-class  suburban 
home  Julia  had  spun  and  woven  and  tended 
her  stepmother's  white  fowls,  for  Livia  was 
an  ardent  poultry  fancier,  and  either  from 
this  circumstance  or  because  the  house  over- 
flowed with  his  own  and  his  sister  Octavia's 
children  Augustus  had  playfully  nicknamed 
the  villa,  "  The  Chicken  Coop." 

A  rush  of  old  associations  softened  Julia's 
heart  as  she  laid  a  wreath  before  the  majestic 
statue  of  her  father  which  Livia  that  day  un- 
veiled in  the  atrium,  and  then  led  her  own  little 
brood  between  the  laurel  hedges  to  inspect  the 
aviary. 

As  she  did  so,  she  was  suddenly  confronted 
by  lulus  Antonius,  who  greeted  her  with  the 
familiarity  of  an  old  friend.  With  her  utmost 
endeavour  she  could  not  repress  a  slight  em- 


AUGUSTUS 
Museum  of  the  Vatican 


I 


The  Sons:  of  the  Sirens  109 


'& 


barrassment  from  which  he  gave  her  time  to 
recover  by  entertaining  the  children  with 
the  wonderful  accomplishments  of  Livia's 
cockatoo. 

His  very  consideration  angered  Julia  since 
it  implied  that  his  presence  could  in  any  way 
affect  her.  If  they  were  to  reside  in  the  same 
city  they  must  frequently  meet,  and  why  not? 
Surely  not  because  there  was  any  danger  of 
a  revival  of  the  old  love  in  her  own  heart,  and 
was  she  not  sufficiently  a  woman  of  the  world 
to  keep  Antonius  in  his  place  if  he  presumed 
too  far?  He  had  led  the  children  aside  and 
they  were  shrieking  with  laughter. 

"  Julia!  "  a  voice  called  which  in  spite  of  its 
high  falsetto  yet  mimicked  the  intonation  of 
Antonius.     "  Ju-li-a !  " 

Caius  ran  toward  her.  "  It  is  the  parrot, 
mother,  he  imitates  everything  we  say.  Try 
him.     Call  one  of  the  children." 

"Agrippina!"  Julia  repeated,  but  the 
parrot  made  no  attempt  to  repeat  the  name. 

"  The  word  is  too  difficult  for  him,"  ex- 
plained Antonius;  "  try  my  name." 

Julia  was  silent,  but  Caius  shouted,  "  An- 
tonius ! "  The  cockatoo  echoed  the  name  per- 
fectly and  evidently  delighted  with  its  own 
success  repeated  it  again  and  again. 


no       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Caius  ran  back  to  the  group  and  Julia  fol- 
lowed, seating  herself  in  an  exedra  near  the 
aviary.  Antonius  joined  her,  and  the  child- 
ren, absorbed  in  putting  the  bird  through  its 
paces,  paid  no  heed  to  their  conversation. 
Naturally  it  took  its  tone  from  the  spot  and 
they  spoke  of  their  childhood. 

"  Do  you  recall,"  Antonius  asked,  "  our 
famous  match  with  the  fighting  quails?  It 
took  place  under  that  trellis.  You  backed 
mine  against  that  of  Tiberius  and  his  won. 
That  was  the  beginning  of  our  rivalry.  I  have 
hated  him  ever  since." 

"  And  yet  you  are  in  no  way  rivals,"  Julia 
replied;  "his  career  is  a  military'-  one,  while 
you  have  the  choice  of  every  civil  office  worth 
the  holding.  Is  it  true  that  you  are  to  be 
made  a  consul? " 

He  disregarded  her  question  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

"  We  are  not  rivals  now,"  he  said  meaningly, 
"  but  there  was  a  time " 

"  How  dare  you  refer  to  it  now?"  she  re- 
torted ;  "  besides — there  never  was  a  time  when 
you  really  loved  me." 

The  words  were  no  sooner  spoken  than  re- 
gretted, for  they  called  forth  a  torrent  of  pro- 
testation.   She  rose  quickly  and  leaned  against 


■V-^i 


i 


.21329 1  / 


^ 


The  Combat  of  Quails 

From  the  painting  by  G.   Rochetrrosse      By  permission  of  Messrs. 

Manzi,  Joyant  &  Co. 


^t  ^0  %>A 


/^>-^ 


\ 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  1 1 1 

the  lattice  of  the  aviary,  turning  her  back  upon 
him,  but  he  followed  her,  speaking  in  her  ear 
in  tones  of  intense  passion:  "I  loved  you 
then  with  all  my  heart,  I  love  you  now.  I 
shall  always  love  you." 

"Hush!  hush!"  she  commanded.  "You 
have  said  too  much — this  is  infamous." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  in  which  the 
cockatoo  sidled  along  the  perch  and  with  its 
head  on  one  side  regarded  them  with  diaboli- 
cal cunning.  "  Pretty,  pretty  Julia,"  it  said, 
cajolingly.  She  struck  the  lattice  and  it  flew 
away  to  the  children.  Then  facing  Antonius, 
she  spoke  more  calmly : 

"  Perhaps  after  all  it  is  best  that  we  should 
face  this  matter  and  then  dismiss  it  for  ever. 
The  past  is  dead.  Let  us  admit  that  we  are 
glad  that  we  were  kept  from  a  great  mis- 
take, that  the  kind  fates  in  giving  us  Mar- 
cella  and  Agrippa  have  ordered  our  lives 
better  than  we  planned  or  deserved,  and  that 
under  no  circumstances,  even  were  we  now  free 
to  do  so,  could  we  regard  each  other  more 
warmly  than  friends." 

"  I  cannot  so  perjure  myself,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  love  you,  I  shall  always  love 
you." 

"Antonius!"     she    exclaimed,     "you    are 


112       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

beneath  all  contempt.  Never  speak  to  me 
again  so  long  as  you  live." 

"  One  word,"  he  insisted,  "  and  I  obey  you. 
You  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  accept  the  con- 
sulship offered  me.  It  will  necessitate  my 
leaving  Rome  for  a  number  of  years  and  fix- 
ing my  residence  in  Thebes,  for  Gallus  has 
mismanaged  affairs,  and  Egypt  is  on  the  verge 
of  rebellion.  Your  husband  urges  me  to  go. 
It  seems,"  he  added  bitterly,  "  that  the  name 
of  Antony  has  still  some  little  influence  in 
Egypt.  It  wsis  Agrippa's  argument  that  I 
might  reconcile  the  country  to  Roman  rule. 
If  vou  mean  what  you  have  just  said,  I  shall 
go." 

"Go  by  all  means,"  she  replied,  still  too  much 
incensed  to  add  any  softening  word  of  ap- 
proval of  the  undertaking  as  one  worthy  of 
his  highest  endeavour.  He  had  given  no  hint 
of  its  danger  though  he  realised  that  in  accept- 
ing the  commission  he  was  offering  his  life  in 
reparation  of  his  father's  dishonour.  It  was 
not  until  long  after  that  Julia  realised  this. 
Her  one  thought  now  was  to  have  him  out 
of  her  sight  for  ever. 

"  Go,"  she  reiterated.  "  Most  certainly  I 
mean  what  I  said.  It  is  the  proper  place 
for   you   and   you   will    doubtless   find   there 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  113 

some   fair   Cleopatra  who   will   soon   console 
you." 

His  cheek  burned  under  the  insult.  "  Your 
commands  are  my  law,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  not 
trouble  you  again.  You  did  me  the  honour 
long  ago  to  keep  the  sonnet  I  wrote  at  your 
command, — '  The  Song  of  the  Sirens.'  Will 
you  send  me  a  copy  of  it  for  my  collection? " 

"  You  mistake,  I  never  had  it,"  she  replied 
decisively. 

"  You  carried  it  away  when  you  left  the 
cave,  for  it  was  not  there  when  I  returned  for 
it  the  next  day  with  Ovid." 

"It  was  not  there!  Could  Tiberius  have 
picked  it  up? " 

"  What  is  this  you  are  saying  about  Ti- 
berius?" a  voice  interpolated  behind  them, 
and  turning  they  faced  him  approaching  with 
his  mother. 

"  I  was  speaking  of  one  of  my  poems  which 
I  left  in  the  Sirens'  cave  at  Capri,  and  which 
I  will  thank  j^ou  to  return,"  replied  Antonius. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  it,"  Tiberius  asserted, 
*'  I  am  not  a  collector  of  poems." 

"Certainly  not,"  assented  Livia;  "why  do 
you  ask  him?  " 

Julia  reddened  under  her  prying  gaze  and 
strove  to  turn  her  stepmother's  attention  to 


114       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

her  children  who  were  still  amusing  themselves 
with  the  parrot. 

"  He  is  a  bad  bird,"  said  Caius,  "  he  repeats 
everything  he  hears.     He  is  a  real  tattle-tale." 

"Tattle,  tattle,"  cackled  the  cockatoo. 
"  Julia,  Julia,  pretty  Julia,  love  you,  love 
you,  love  you.  Hush!  hush!  Antonius!  An- 
tonius!     Ha!  ha!  tattle,  tattle,  tattle." 

All  laughed  but  the  persons  implicated. 
Julia  was  silent  and  confused,  and  Antonius 
muttered,  "  That  is  not  a  bird,  but  a  demon." 


"  What  was  that  poem  of  which  Antonius 
was  speaking?  "  Livia  asked  her  son,  after  her 
guests  had  departed. 

"Trash!"  Tiberius  replied,  "idiotic,  love- 
sick trash — '  The  Song  of  the  Sirens.'  " 

"Then  you  found  it?" 

"  Yes,  and  destroyed  it,"  and  he  explained 
the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  discov- 
ered the  song,  the  poet,  and  Julia  in  the  cave 
at  Capri. 

"  You  made  a  mistake  to  destroy  it.  How- 
ever, they  will  furnish  us  with  more  damaging 
testimony  than  that.  We  must  have  a  spy  in 
Julia's  household,  for  she  will  bear  watching." 

"  Yes,  and  your  spy  will  turn  traitor,  and 
inform  her  of  your  plots,"  Tiberius  replied. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  115 

"  One  can  never  count  certainly  on  the  faith- 
fulness of  any  human  being." 

"  True,  but  I  have  one  informer  who  will 
report  secrets  exactly  as  he  hears  them,  who 
will  not  be  suspected  and  cannot  be  corrupted 
by  bribes  to  hold  his  tongue." 
"  Impossible." 

Livia  touched  a  gong  and  a  slave  entered. 
"  Take  my  cockatoo  to  the  wife  of  Agrippa," 
she  commanded,  "  and  say  to  the  lady  Julia, 
that  the  little  Agrippina  seemed  so  pleased 
with  it  that  Livia  sends  the  gift  in  token  of 
the  pleasure  which  the  events  of  the  day  have 
given  her." 

"  Your  clever  expedient  proves  to  be  utterly 
fatuous,"  Tiberius  remarked  to  his  mother  a 
few  days  later.  "  Antonius  has  left  Rome  to 
assume  the  governorship  of  Egypt." 

"Agrippa's  work!  "  exclaimed  Livia.  "He 
sees  how  affairs  are  going  in  his  family  and 
will  not  suffer  his  wife  to  ruin  herself." 

"  How  long  is  Agrippa  to  be  allowed  to 
frustrate  our  plans?"  asked  Tiberius. 

"Patience,  patience,"  replied  his  mother. 
"  A  day  may  change  the  destiny  of  a  nation." 

The  words  seemed  prophetic,  for  on  the 
morrow  Rome  was  in  consternation.  The 
prime  minister  had  been  stricken  with  agonis- 


ii6       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

ing  convulsions  which  the  hastily  summoned 
physicians  could  not  relieve.  The  distracted 
wife  in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  upon  in- 
sanity tore  the  images  of  the  lares  from  their 
pedestals,  threatening  to  burn  them  unless  her 
husband  was  restored. 

Agrippa  in  a  lucid  interval  called  for  her 
and  she  pillowed  the  masterful  head  upon 
her  bosom,  crj^ing,  "  I  am  here,  I  am  here, 
Agrippa ;  you  are  better  now,  say  that  you  are 
better!" 

He  looked  into  her  dry  eves  and  murmured, 
"  What  will  become  of  you,  Julia,  if — if  any- 
thing happens  to  me? " 

"Yes,  what  will  become  of  me?"  she  re- 
peated in  anguish.  "  Think,  think,  Agrippa, 
what  will  become  of  me,  and  of  your  children?" 

The  brow  of  the  dying  man  contracted  in 
agony,  but  with  a  great  effort  he  replied: 
"  Your  father,  Augustus." 

"  I  will  care  for  them,  my  friend  of  friends," 
exclaimed  the  Emperor.  "  Are  they  not  my 
children  also  ? " 

"  Obey  him  absolutely,  promise,"  com- 
manded Agrippa,  and  as  Julia  gave  her  word 
the  contorted  features  relaxed  and  the  expres- 
sion on  the  dead  face  was  one  of  ineffable 
contentment. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  117 

The  grief  of  Augustus  was  commensurate 
with  his  loss.  He  gave  his  other  self  a  king's 
burial  in  his  own  mausoleum,  and  himself  pro- 
nounced the  funeral  oration.  But  of  these 
distinguished  testimonials  to  her  husband's 
greatness  Julia  knew  nothing.  For  days  and 
weeks  her  life  hung  in  the  balance.  A  fifth 
child,  Agrippa  Posthumus,  had  come  through 
the  gates  of  sorrow  into  an  heritage  of  dis- 
aster. The  mother  manifested  no  interest  in 
the  unfortunate  babe,  or  in  ami;hing  that 
transpired  about  her.  From  the  first  Livia 
had,  as  was  natural,  taken  possession  of  the  in- 
valid and  the  household.  Never  was  there  a 
more  devoted  nurse,  for  Julia  was  necessary 
in  the  carrying  out  of  Livia's  schemes. 

A  common  sorrow  had  intensified  the 
father's  affection  for  Julia  and  her  orphaned 
children.  If  Tiberius  was  to  climb  farther, 
it  must  be  through  Julia.  As  her  husband 
and  guardian  of  her  sons,  he  could  exercise 
the  power  of  a  regent,  should  Augustus  die 
during  the  minority  of  Caius,  and  if,  in  the 
meantime,  a  son  were  born  to  Tiberius,  and 
if  by  any  chance  the  children  of  Agrippa 
should  be  removed,  the  desires  of  all  would 
be  concentrated  in  the  indisputable  birthright 
of  this  imagined  grandchild. 


ii8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Livia  now  regretted  most  sincerely  the  es- 
trangement  which  she  had  allowed  to  spring 
up  between  Julia  and  herself.  Self-reproach 
and  sympathy  appeared  to  intensify  her  de- 
votion: but  for  a  long  time  it  seemed  to  Livia 
that  Julia  would  die,  and  Julia  herself  hoped 
that  she  mio'ht. 

She  watched  Livia  stepping  softly  about 
her  bed.  and  drank  the  medicine  offered  her 
praying  that  it  would  prove  to  be  poison. 
Asrainst  her  will  life  claimed  her  as  its  own. 
She  knew  to  wliat  fate  she  was  drifting  back 
as  her  father  greeted  her  with  fondest  delight, 
and  was  not  surprised  when  he  informed  her 
that  Tiberius  had  divorced  Vipsania,  for  she 
had  foreseen  every  act  in  the  pitiful  drama 
as  she  lay  thinking,  tliinking,  but  too  weak  to 
stiiicrale  against  the  inexorable  current. 

Antonius  was  far  away,  banished  irrevocably 
bv  her  own  words.  How  well  she  recalled 
them, — "  Even  if  we  were  free  " — and  he  was 
not.  There  was  ^larcella — loving  and  trust- 
ing, bending  over  her  now,  raining  her  tears 
upon  her  face.  Never,  for  the  dear  mother 
Octavia's  sake,  should  she  weep  more  bitterly. 

Julia  had  known  what  must  happen  when 
she  gave  her  promise  to  her  dying  husband, 
and   she   had   no   intention   of   breaking  that 


The  Son""  of  the  Sirens  119 


'fe 


sacred  vow.  Agrippa  must  have  foreseen  it 
too,  she  argued,  and  Agrippa  was  always 
right. 

She  pitied  her  father  from  her  heart;  his 
loss  was  even  greater  than  hers,  which  was  so 
narrowly  personal.  He  had  said  that  he  had 
two  daughters,  herself  and  the  Empire.  Both 
had  been  safe  so  long  as  Agrippa  lived,  but 
now  that  he  had  learned  to  lean  upon  that 
resourceful  mind,  so  adequate  to  any  emer- 
gency, he  saw  dangerous  tendencies  springing 
up  among  the  younger  generation,  and  only 
one  man  on  whom  he  could  rely  to  comprehend 
and  sympathise  with  his  policy  of  government 
and  who  possessed  the  static  force  of  character 
to  continue  in  the  same  lines  the  building  up 
of  the  Roman  Empire. 

Augustus  had  once  declared  that  he  pitied 
Rome  if  it  should  ever  come  between  the  iron 
jaws  of  Tiberius,  but  he  now  felt,  and  pa- 
tiently explained  to  Julia,  that  the  time  had 
come  when  it  needed  just  such  a  masterful 
grip  or  the  work  which  he  himself  had  ac- 
complished would  disintegrate  like  a  castle  of 
sand. 

Knowing  its  utter  futility,  Julia  made  one 
appeal:  "  Can  you  not  make  Tiberius  your 
prime  minister  without  marrying  us  ?  " 


120       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

He  silenced  her.  "  It  is  the  only  way;  be- 
lieve me,  it  will  be  better  for  us  all  if  you 
submit  with  a  good  grace.  When,  I  ask  you, 
did  you  begin  to  love  Agrippa?  Not  surely 
before  your  marriage? " 

*'  I  think  I  had  loved  him  long  without 
knowing  it,"  she  rephed.  "  I  fled  to  him  in- 
stinctively as  to  a  strong  tower  of  refuge  and 
he  did  not  fail  me." 

"  You  were  a  good  wife,  Julia.  Be  as  true 
to  Tiberius,  and  should  he  betray  your  trust, 
your  father  will  not.  Trust  me,  my  child,  and 
happiness  which  does  not  now  seem  to  you 
possible  will  yet  be  yours." 

There  was  no  pretence  of  affection  from  the 
first;  each  knew  that  the  other  had  been  actu- 
ated by  motives  of  pohcy,  and  the  taunt  would 
have  sprung  from  Julia's  lips  upon  her  wed- 
ding-day but  for  a  circumstance  which  touched 
her  kindlier  impulses. 

She  was  driving  with  Tiberius,  who  sat  with 
folded  arms,  gloomy  and  silent,  when  in  a 
chariot  which  swiftly  passed  them,  they  caught 
a  flying  ghmpse  of  Vipsania.  One  glance  at 
her  husband's  face  filled  Julia's  heart  with  a 
great  pity,  for  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes — 
and  she  knew  that  he,  too,  had  suffered. 
Thenceforward  and  until  she  knew  him  more 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  121 

thoroughly,  a  consideration  which  was  more 
than  tact  led  her  to  avoid  reproach  and  re- 
crimination. She  believed,  too,  that  she  had 
conferred  upon  her  children  a  faithful  guar- 
dian, and  had  no  conception  of  the  desire  for 
power  which  dominated  her  husband. 

Her  eyes  were  opened  to  her  mistake  as  the 
little  Agrippa  grew  older.  Unlike  his  lovable 
brothers,  he  was  quick-tempered,  obstinate, 
and  revengeful.  Tiberius  tried  to  break  the 
child's  will,  but  found  it  impossible.  He  was 
passionately  attached  to  his  mother,  resenting 
his  stepfather's  cruelty  to  her,  for  Tiberius 
was  brutal  now. 

On  one  occasion  when  she  had  attempted  to 
reconcile  them  he  had  informed  her  that  it  was 
her  business  to  give  him  a  son  and  not  to 
interfere  with  his  discipline  of  her  unmannerly 
cubs.  Agrippa  understood  only  that  his 
mother  had  been  insulted  and  flew  upon  her 
tormentor  with  tooth  and  nail.  Tiberius  car- 
ried his  scratched  face  to  Augustus,  and  the 
Emperor  yielded  to  his  demand  that  the  in- 
tractable child  should  be  banished  to  Planasia, 
a  small  island  near  Elba. 

Augustus  explained  to  Julia  that  this  was 
merely  temporary  removal  from  an  exciting 
environment,  that  if  Agrippa  proved  not  to 


122       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

be  incorrigible  he  should  be  permitted  to  re- 
turn; but  Julia  was  not  deceived,  her  husband 
was  not  only  grossly  sensual,  tyrannical,  and 
cruel  in  relation  to  her,  but  her  children  were 
in  his  power  and,  sooner  or  later,  that  power 
would  be  exercised  for  their  destruction. 

There  was  trouble  in  Germany  and  Tiberius 
was  sent  to  the  field,  a  cause  for  rejoicing  had 
not  Caius,  a  lad  of  fourteen  now,  been  sent 
with  him  to  receive  his  education  in  mili- 
tary matters.  Julia  had  read  aright  the  look 
of  cold  malevolence  in  her  husband's  face. 

"  Caius  is  my  hostage  for  your  good  be- 
haviour," he  had  said  at  parting.  "  Let  there 
be  no  public  scandal." 

Public  scandal,  which  would  grant  him  di- 
vorce, was  precisely  what  he  secretly  desired. 
The  longed-for  heir  that  was  to  have  united 
their  warring  interests  had  come  and  had  died. 
There  would  never  be  another,  for  Augustus, 
hoping  that  a  reconciliation  might  in  time  be 
effected,  had  yielded  to  Julia's  demand  for 
protection  in  a  separate  life,  and  Tiberius  was 
her  husband  only  in  name. 

She  was  alone,  terribly  alone  in  the  midst 
of  her  enemies.  Who  would  aid  her  in  open- 
ing her  father's  eyes  to  her  children's  danger? 

She  sobbed  forth  the  question  before  the 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  123 

unpitying  lares,  and  a  high-pitched  voice  cried 
as  in  answer,  "  Antonius,  Antonius." 

It  was  the  parrot  dancing  and  shrieking  in 
wild  excitement,  for  he  had  recognised  an  old 
acquaintance  approaching  from  the  atrium. 

"Did  you  call  me,  Julia?  My  consulship 
has  expired,  and  I  am  here  once  more." 

It  was  Antonius's  very  self  who  lifted  her 
still  weeping  and  comforted  her  as  one  com- 
forts a  grieved  child. 

Ill 

CHRISTMAS   AT   ROME 

It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night, 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  Queen  of  land  and  sea ! 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars, 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain ; 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 
In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago! 

'Twas  in  the  calm  and  silent  night! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome 
Impatient  urged  his  chariot's  flight 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home; 
Triumphal  arches  gleaming  swell 


124       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway. 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befell 
A  paltry  province  far  away, 
In  the  solemn  midnight 
Centuries  ago? 

Alfred  Domett. 


It  recked  one  Roman  much,  and  he,  the 
Emperor  Augustus,  had  pondered  long  and 
reverently  over  the  ambiguous  oracle  of 
Cumge,  and  fervently  he  strove  to  aid  in  its 
fulfilment.  But  who  could  imagine  that  the 
babe  foretold  by  the  Sibyl  as  destined  to  sit 
where  he  was  sitting,  who  would  bring  in  the 
Golden  Age,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  whom  the 
whole  world  longed  for,  "  quem  omnes  expecta- 
bant,"  would  be  born  in  an  utterly  unknown 
village  of  an  obscure  province? 

Onh^  in  the  capital  of  the  world  and  in  the 
palace  of  the  Cgesars  should  such  a  momentous 
event  take  place. 

Augustus  had  no  son,  but  at  the  time  that 
Virgil  voiced  the  prophecy,  he  had  adopted 
Marcellus,  the  child  of  his  dearly  loved  sister, 
Octavia,  as  his  heir.  The  boy  had  inherited 
her  winsome  personahty  and  beautiful  char- 
acter. Virgil  himself  believed  him  the  pre- 
dicted sovereign,  and  the  Emperor  to  make 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  125 

his  succession  sure  had  wedded  him  as  we  have 
seen  to  his  only  child. 

Virgil  and  Tibullus  had  followed  Marcellus 
to  the  grave — the  Sibyl's  utterances  as  inter- 
preted by  Messalinus  were  confused  and  un- 
intelligible, and  the  faith  of  Augustus  had 
faltered.  He  had  married  Julia  to  his  best 
friend  Agrippa  from  pure  policy,  but  on  the 
birth  of  Caius  the  old  hope  woke  vaguely  in 
his  heart  that  possibly  this  grandson  might  be 
the  expected  babe,  and  he  had  bestowed  upon 
him  the  name  of  his  immortal  uncle — Caius 
Julius  Caesar — at  the  same  time  creating  him 
heir-apparent  to  the  Empire. 

The  populace  loved  the  boy,  and  at  the  fes- 
tival given  to  celebrate  the  return  of  the 
Emperor  from  Gaul  and  that  of  Julia  and 
Agrippa  from  the  Orient,  they  had  shouted 
forth  their  loyalty  and  admiration  when  the 
plucky  princeling,  then  only  seven  years  of  age, 
had  taken  his  place  with  the  Roman  Knights 
in  the  splendid  tournament  of  the  Trojan 
games. 

Augustus  had  marked  their  enthusiasm  and 
it  had  warmed  his  heart,  which  was  centred 
more  firmly  upon  the  child  than  Julia  knew. 
Antonius,  who  had  now  come  to  Julia  directly 
from  an  interview  with  the  Emperor,  compre- 


126       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

hended  this  and  he  calmed  and  soothed  her 
with  the  assurance  that  she  exaggerated  her 
child's  immediate  danger.  Tiberius  would 
never  dare  to  compass  the  death  of  Caius 
while  Augustus  lived. 

"  Listen,  little  sister,"  he  said,  "  I  know 
for  a  certainty  that  your  father's  only  thought 
in  sending  the  boy  to  the  front  under  the  care 
of  Tiberius,  was  to  prepare  him  for  his  high 
career.  We  must  hasten  his  entrance  upon 
it  while  the  firm  hand  of  Augustus  still  grasps 
the  sceptre.  Augustus  must  be  persuaded  to 
make  Caius  his  colleague  so  that,  should  your 
father  die  suddenly,  vour  son's  accession  would 
be  predetermined  and  inevitable." 

Julia  laughed  incredulously.  "  Do  you 
suppose  that  Livia,  that  Tiberius  would  for 
a  moment  permit  of  such  a  step?  And  Caius, 
but  a  lad  of  fourteen,  colleague  of  the  Em- 
peror!    It  is  against  all  law,  all  precedent." 

"  New  laws  can  be  made  and  old  ones 
changed  by  the  Senate,  and  that  shall  be  my 
concern.  You  said  just  now  that  your  life  was 
ended.  A  mother  lives  in  her  son.  I  had  an 
example  of  that  in  Egypt.  At  the  foot  of 
the  great  Sphinx,  I  found  one  day  some  trav- 
ellers utterly  spent.  A  miserable  little  ass 
had  crept  into  the  shadow  and  was  panting 


i 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  127 

piteously,  its  master  had  lain  himself  down  to 
die ;  but  a  delicate  woman  sat  wan  but  steadfast 
suckling  her  babe,  though  each  drop  which  the 
infant  drew  tortured  her  parched  veins.  She 
smiled  upon  me  as  I  held  the  water-bottle  to 
her  lips,  but  gently  pushed  it  aside  so  that  the 
water  trickled  into  the  mouth  of  the  child. 
*  Drink  first,'  I  pleaded,  *  you  are  dying  of 
thirst.' 

"  '  Oh,  no ! '  she  answered,  '  I  shall  not  die, 
for  I  am  necessary  to  him,  and  he  is — The 
Hope  of  the  World.' 

"  Sublime  egotism! — she,  a  nomad  woman, 
perishing  in  the  desert,  as  confident  in  the 
future  of  her  son  as  though  he  were  a  king, 
and  as  undismayed  as  to  her  own  fate,  as 
though  she  sat  in  his  palace,  attended  by  his 
courtiers, — because  forsooth  she  was  neces- 
sary to  him.  It  was  a  lesson  which  I  shall 
never  forget.  Julia,  I,  too,  was  perishing  of 
thirst — for  love — for  you." 

She  shrank  away  from  him,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  murmuring;  "Is  that 
the  price  you  ask  for  saving  Caius  ? " 

"  Nay,  you  misunderstand  me.  You  pun- 
ished me  once  for  such  a  thought  and  I  shall 
not  transgress  again.  You  struck  so  hard 
that   when   I   went   to   Egypt   I    went   as   I 


128       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

thought  to  my  death.  But  I  had  time  to 
ponder,  and  when  I  found  that  a  man  does 
not  die  even  of  such  a  wound,  I  determined 
to  make  my  love  for  you  not  a  degradation 
but  a  thing  sacred,  the  noblest  impulse  of  my 
soul,  a  devotion  which  even  your  pure  soul 
need  not  hesitate  to  accept;  and  since  fate  has 
forbidden  me  to  ask  you  to  lean  upon  me  as 
you  relied  upon  Agrippa,  I  would  help  you  live 
your  own  life,  lonely,  if  it  must  be  so,  yet 
nobly  and  with  triumphant  adequacy  for  every 
emergency." 

She  looked  at  him  amazed,  but  could  not 
doubt  his  sincerity.  In  the  hour  of  his  weak- 
ness she  had  been  strong  and  now  in  her  o^vn 
collapse  that  strength  had  reacted  through  him 
to  her, — with  an  added  element,  something 
mysterious  and  divine,  intense  and  tender  as 
love  yet  more  uplifting,  for  it  awakened  within 
herself  a  moral  force  which  she  knew  not  that 
she  possessed. 

"  Bless  you  Antonius,"  she  said  gratefully, 
"  but  my  life  is  marred  past  all  repair." 

"  That  may  be  true  of  your  omu  life,  but 
there  are  vour  children.  Think  of  what  the 
woman  said — the  Hope  of  the  World!  " 

Julia's  face  flashed  into  radiancy.  "  Truly 
you  are  right;  but  what  can  I  do?  " 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  129 


<c- 


'  Much.  A  new  political  party  has  spi-ung  up 
here  in  Rome,  composed  of  the  young  radicals 
who  revolt  against  the  sternness  and  narrow- 
ness of  the  old  regime.  They  stand  for  pro- 
gress, for  broader  forms  of  civilisation,  for 
toleration,  for  freedom  of  thought  and  speech, 
for  mercy  to  the  unfortunate  and  for  punish- 
ment of  the  wicked  which  shall  mean  reforma- 
tion, not  retaliation  of  crime  with  crime.  Julici, 
you  have  never  seen  a  crucifixion.  I  have 
heard  Tiberius  say  he  thought  it  too  light  a 
penalty  for  rebellion.  We  dread  his  succes- 
sion not  because  of  his  haughty  insolence  and 
his  surly  aloofness,  but  because  we  know  that 
he  will  prove  an  unscrupulous  and  cruel 
tyrant. 

"  We  must  make  Caius  the  popular  leader  of 
this  opposition.  They  must  acknowledge  him 
as  the  hope  of  the  future.  You  were  the 
leader  of  society  during  the  life  of  Agrippa; 
but  they  tell  me  that  since  your  marriage  to 
Tiberius  you  have  retired  from  the  world. 
Resume  your  old  place  and  assume  the  con- 
duct of  the  campaign  which  we  must  wage. 
Open  your  house  to  the  young  nobility,  enlist 
the  men  of  genius  in  our  ranks,  and  that  Livia 
and  your  father  may  not  suspect  our  motives 
give  brilliant  receptions  to  which  it  will  be  a 


130      Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

privilege  to  be  asked  with  the  avowed  purpose 
of  introducing  some  poet.  Horace  is  in  his 
dotage,  and  has  retired  to  his  Sabine  farm. 
Bring  forward  Ovid.  Let  him  read  his 
Metamorphoses,  a  work  of  the  first  rank.  He 
will  be  the  rage — and  so  will  you.  Dress  as 
Agrippa  loved  to  see  you, — as  becomes  the 
daughter  and  the  mother  of  an  Emperor, — and 
invite  beautiful  and  distinguished  women  like 
Sulpicia,  like  my  sister  Antonia,  and  ISIarcia, 
the  wife  of  Fabius  JNIaximus,  and  my  own 
JNIarcella  to  bear  you  company.  INIeantime, 
Augustus  shall  be  persuaded  to  recall  Caius 
and  the  Senate  shall  confer  upon  him  the 
offices  which  his  father  held." 

The  coup  d'etat  thus  outlined  by  Antonius 
was  rapidly  and  successfully  carried  through, 
the  Senate  passing  a  law  whereby  Caius  was 
at  once  elected  Consul  of  Asia,  to  enter  upon 
his  duties  in  his  twentv-first  year. 

The  news  came  as  a  thunderbolt  to  Livia 
and  to  Tiberius,  who,  hastily  returning  to 
Rome,  found  that  the  rival  so  audaciously 
thrust  forward  was  backed  by  a  following 
more  powerful  than  his  own.  Deeply  of- 
fended he  shut  himself  up  in  his  palace, 
threatening  to  starve  himself  to  death  if  the 
appointment  were  not  rescinded.     Failing  to 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  131 

influence  the  Senate  or  the  Emperor  by  this 
childish  pique,  he  left  Rome  for  his  estates 
on  the  island  of  Rhodes. 

Learning  through  his  mother's  letters  how 
great  had  been  his  mistake  in  thus  playing 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemies  by  voluntarily 
exiling  himself  from  the  scene  of  contest,  he 
wrote  the  Emperor,  asking  permission  to  return 
"  in  order  to  care  for  his  family."  Augustus 
replied  indignantly  that  he  had  displayed  little 
soHcitude  in  deserting  them,  and  might  dis- 
miss from  his  mind  all  anxiety  in  regard  to 
their  welfare. 

And  now  the  five  years  ordained  by  the 
Senate  to  intervene  between  the  election  of 
Caius  and  the  assumption  of  his  duties  had 
expired  and  the  happiest  day  of  Julia's  life 
had  arrived.  Caius  was  to  set  out  for  his 
province,  where  it  was  expected  that  he  would 
perform  glorious  deeds,  and  all  Rome  swarmed 
to  the  forum  to  bellow  their  acclamations  in 
that  stupendous  ear-shattering  roar  which 
could  be  poured  forth  by  Roman  throats  alone. 

His  mother's  heart  ached  for  very  joy  as 
she  heard  it.  With  what  pride  she  had  fastened 
his  toga-praetexta,  whose  purple  stripe  and 
Phrygian  embroidery  were  the  regalia  of  his 
office,   with  grateful  reverence  she  had  con- 


132       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

tributed  a  white  bull  for  sacrifice  to  the  favour- 
ing gods,  and  her  eyes  had  been  wet  with  ex- 
quisite tears  as  she  watched  his  elegant  figure 
bearing  itself  with  courtesy  and  grace  through 
the  exercises  of  the  day.  He  was  a  bridegroom, 
having  recently  wedded  Livilla,  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  Drusus  and  Antonia,  against  the 
will  of  her  grandmother  Livia,  and  Livia's 
opposition  to  the  marriage  had  thrown  the 
only  cloud  upon  the  joj^ous  occasion. 

Julia  had  held  the  hand  of  the  girlish  bride 
as  Ovid  mounted  the  Rostra  to  declaim  the 
farewell  ode  to  Caius.  Fulsome  flattery  it 
seems  to  us,  but  the  two  loving  women  Hstened 
in  credulous  esctacy  to  its  pompous  periods. 

Once  more  our  Prince  prepares  to  make  us  glad, 
And  the  remaining  East  to  Rome  will  add. 
Rejoice  ye  Roman  soldiers  in  your  urn, 
Your  ensigns  from  the  Parthians  shall  return, 
A  youth  is  sent  those  trophies  to  demand 
Who  bears  his  father's  thunder  in  his  hand. 
Doubt  not  th' imperial  boy  in  wars  unseen; 
In  childhood  all  of  Caesar's  race  are  men, 
Thus  infant  Hercules  the  snakes  did  press, 
And  in  his  cradle  did  his  sire  confess, 
Bacchus,  a  boy,  yet  like  a  hero  fought. 
And  early  spoils  from  conquered  India  brought. 
Thus  you  your  father's  troops  shall  lead  to  fight, 


The  Song-  of  the  Sirens  133 


'& 


And  thus  shall  vanquish  in  your  father's  sight; 
These  rudiments  you  to  your  lineage  owe; 
Born  to  increase  your  titles  as  you  grow.i 

"lo  triumphe!  "  reiterated  the  populace,  and 
mother  and  son  bade  each  other  farewell  with 
no  premonition  of  the  double  tragedy  lurking 
behind  Livia's  slow  smile. 

Lucius,  Julia's  second  son,  was  not  at  this 
celebration,  for  he  had  been  appointed  to  the 
command  of  the  army  in  Spain,  and  was  al- 
ready upon  his  way.  He  had  paused  in 
southern  Gaul  (possibly  to  visit  Nimes,  whose 
citizens  had  dedicated  to  Caius  and  himself 
the  beautiful  temple  which  we  admire  to- 
day under  the  name  of  the  INIaison  Carree). 
He  never  reached  his  destination,  but  died 
at  Marseilles,  from  fever  or  poison,  soon 
after  the  departure  of  his  brother  for  the 
East. 

JuHa  bore  up  bravely,  for  her  heart  was 
more  intensely  centred  in  her  eldest  son,  and 
at  first  the  letters  received  from  him  were 
most  gratifying. 

"  Alma  ISIater,"  he  wrote,  in  one,  "  I  am 
thinking  of  you  much  of  late,  for  we  are  in 

1  Dryden's  translation.  Augustus  was  no  older  when  he 
assumed  command  of  the  army. 


134       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Jerusalem,  where  vou  and  mv  father  were 
the  guests  of  Herod  the  Great.  A  won- 
derful but  terrible  man,  if  all  that  I  hear  be 
true.  They  tell  me  that  the  Jews  must  have 
heard  in  some  way  of  the  prophecy  of  the  Cu- 
maaan  Sibyl  of  the  wonderful  babe  who  will  rule 
the  world,  and  that  certain  Chaldean  astro- 
logers notified  Herod  that  the  hour  was  at 
hand,  and  that  an  insignificant  village  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Jerusalem  was  indicated  by 
the  appearance  in  the  sky  of  the  flaming  pro- 
digy which  would  announce  the  birth  of  the 
king.  Herod  promptly  averted  the  danger  of 
a  popular  uprising  by  a  characteristic  coup, 
putting  to  the  sword  all  children  who  could 
pretend  to  a  career  so  dangerous  to  the  Roman 
rule. 

"  I  was  speaking  lately  of  this  event  with 
Lollius,  as  we  rode  through  an  obscure  town 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  city  w^hich  Herod 
in  compliment  to  my  grandfather  has  named 
Ca^sarea.  A  beautiful  child  of  three  or  there- 
abouts chanced  at  the  time  to  be  playing  with 
his  comrades  directly  in  our  path.  The  sun  so 
illumined  his  blond  hair  that  at  first  glance  it 
seemed  to  me  that  he  wore  a  golden  diadem. 
But  in  an  instant  I  saw  that  this  was  no 
princeling,  but  a  peasant  boy,  for  he  and  his 


The  Sonor  of  the  Sirens  135 


'& 


playmates  were  amusing  themselves  by  shap- 
ing birds  from  the  mire  of  the  road.  I  was 
so  absorbed  with  our  discussion,  having  just 
angrily  asserted  that  the  act  of  Herod,  which 
Lollius  defended  as  one  of  far-seeing  policy, 
was  that  of  a  barbarous  cutthroat,  that  I  did 
not  notice  the  child.  He,  too,  was  so  wrapt 
in  his  play,  bidding  his  clay  birds  with  all  seri- 
ousness to  '  fly  away,'  that  he  would  have  been 
trampled  under  the  hoofs  of  my  horse,  but 
for  one  of  those  strange  events  which  the 
credulous  call  miracles.  A  flock  of  sparrows 
rose  suddenly  with  a  whirring  of  wings 
straight  into  my  horse's  face  and  eyes,  causing 
the  animal  to  swerve  from  his  path,  but  not 
so  widely  as  to  release  me  from  all  uneasiness. 
I  sprang  from  my  saddle  and  lifted  the  boy  in 
my  arms  to  see  if  he  were  injured. 

"  '  I  should  count  myself  as  unforgivable  as 
Herod,'  I  said,  '  if  I  had  caused  anguish  to 
the  mother  of  such  a  child.' 

"  He  looked  at  me  very  gravely.  '  All 
mothers  must  suffer  anguish,'  he  said,  and  as 
the  strangeness  of  his  words  thrilled  me,  he 
continued  sweetly :  '  ]\Iy  mother  would  have 
forgiven  you.  Bid  your  mother  when  her 
time  of  anguish  comes  to  forgive  and  she  also 
shall  be  forgiven.' 


136        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


" '  That  is  an  insolent  message,  Little 
One,'  said  Lollius.  '  Know  that  you  are 
speaking  to  a  prince,  the  heir  of  Augustus 
Caesar; — perchance  in  the  naughtiness  of  your 
ignorant  presumption,  you  have  some  message 
also  for  the  Emperor.' 

" '  Bid  him  also  to  forgive,'  the  strange 
child  replied  calmly. 

"  liollius  laughed  rudely.  '  And  for  me 
have  you  the  same  command? ' 

"  He  turned  from  Lollius  without  a  word, 
and  looking  at  me,  said,  '  Forgive  him.' 

"  We  rode  on  but  not  before  I  had  striven  to 
learn  something  of  this  wonder-child,  but  all 
that  the  townspeople  could  tell  me  was  that 
his  father  was  a  carpenter,  and  that  the  family 
were  Jews  who  had  recently  returned  to  their 
own  country  from  Egypt." 

Caius's  next  letter  brought  news  of  greater 
public  interest.  He  had  met  the  king  of 
Parthia  on  an  island  in  the  Euphrates,  and 
had  made  conditions  of  peace  obtaining  the 
cession  of  Armenia  to  Rome.  Augustus  de- 
nominated the  treaty  a  master-stroke  of  dip- 
lomacy, and  the  friends  of  Caius  were  jubilant, 
for  he  had  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  Ovid. 

But  the  third  letter  received  from  Asia  by 
Julia  was  written  not  by  Caius,  but  by  Lol- 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  137 

lius,  and  reported  that  the  young  Consul,  in 
taking  possession  of  the  citadel  of  Artapra, 
had  been  seriously  wounded  and  had  been 
borne  to  Limyra,  a  town  of  Asia  Minor,  for 
treatment  of  his  wound. 

It  was  not  until  after  months  of  agonised 
suspense  that  Masgabas,  a  devoted  follower 
of  Caius,  brought  Julia  the  information 
that  Caius  had  been  treacherously  stabbed  in 
the  back  during  the  melee  by  some  one  in  the 
Roman  ranks.  A  rumour  spread,  started  no 
one  knew  by  whom,  that  Caius  had  discov- 
ered that  Lollius  had  received  vast  sums  from 
the  king  of  Armenia  for  traitorously  disclosing 
the  Roman  plans,  and  that  Lollius  himself 
had  endeavoured  to  murder  the  prince  to  fore- 
stall his  disgrace.  But  Masgabas,  while  ad- 
mitting that  this  might  be  true,  since  Lollius 
had  paraded  gems  of  fabulous  value  which  he 
had  not  the  wealth  to  purchase,  was  convinced 
that  a  crime  of  still  greater  enormity  had  been 
committed.  Caius  had  appeared  to  be  recov- 
ering until  he  had  placed  himself  under  the 
care  of  a  physician  sent  to  him  from  Rhodes 
by  Tiberius,  when  grave  complications  had  set 
in  and  his  life  was  now  despaired  of. 

"  I  distrusted  the  apparently  friendly  over- 
tures of  Tiberius  from  the  very  first,"   said 


138        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Masgabas,  "  and  begged  my  lord's  permission 
to  let  me  go  to  Rhodes  and  kill  the  beast, 
but  he  would  on  no  account  suffer  me  to  do 
so.  Nay  more,  when  I  bade  him  farewell  as 
he  lay  dying,  he  told  me  of  a  vision  which 
he  had  had  of  a  child  who  commanded  him  to 
forgive  his  enemies.  He  charged  me  to  beg 
Augustus  to  be  reconciled  with  Tiberius  and 
to  allow  him  to  return  to  Rome,  and  to  entreat 
you  also  to  forgive  him." 

"  Forgive  him!  "  exclaimed  the  heart-broken 
mother,  "  that  wall  I  never.  ]My  poor  boy's 
mind  was  wandering.  Carry  not  that  mes- 
sage to  mj'"  father." 

"  Alas !  he  wrote  it  with  his  own  hand,  and 
I  was  forced  to  deliver  the  letter,"  replied 
Masgabas,  "  but  should  the  Emperor  allow 
Tiberius  to  return,  the  moment  that  he  touches 
foot  to  Italian  soil,  I  will  mete  to  him  the  same 
fate  which  he  dealt  my  master." 

This  feeling  was  shared  by  many  of  the 
friends  of  the  murdered  prince  and  the  deep- 
est sympathy  was  expressed  by  all  for  Julia, 
who  seemed  to  have  lost  her  reason  under  the 
blow. 

The  hope  of  the  future  for  which  Antonius 
had  taught  her  to  live  had  been  snatched  away, 
and  the  bereft  mother  had  not  learned   the 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  139 

harder  lesson  of  living  withouthope.  She  roamed 
the  streets  distracted,  suspending  wreaths  upon 
the  doors  of  the  temple  of  Mars,  beseeching 
the  war-god  to  avenge  her  wrongs  upon  Rome. 

Augustus,  who  was  also  in  deep  grief,  had 
at  first  endeavoured  to  console  her,  but  she 
had  met  his  overtures  with  fierce  and  impolitic 
denunciation  of  Livia,  who  in  defence  made 
counter  charges,  that  the  younger  nobles  meet- 
ing at  Julia's  house  had  formed  a  conspiracy 
for  the  assassination  of  the  Emperor,  and  that 
lulus  Antonius,  who  was  Julia's  lover,  was 
the  originator  and  head  of  the  plot. 

Augustus,  indignant  and  incredulous,  de- 
temiined  to  probe  the  accusation  to  the  utter- 
most and  announced  his  determination  of 
himself  interrogating  Julia  in  her  own  house, 
but  unfortunately  delayed  action.  Livia  rea- 
lised that  she  had  gone  too  far  to  hesitate ;  Julia 
must  be  irretrievably  ruined,  or  Tiberius  could 
never  return  to  Rome.  She  had  two  spies  in 
Julia's  household:  JNIarcia,  the  wife  of  Fabius 
Maximus,  who  had  been  devoted  to  the  un- 
fortunate Caius.  IMarcia  would  know  what 
went  on  in  that  household,  and  also  through 
her  husband  what  plots  were  being  hatched. 
But  JNIarcia  could  report  nothing  of  an  in- 
criminating nature.     The  second  spy  was  the 


140       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

parrot.  Here,  also,  Livia's  hopes  failed  her, 
for  its  prattle  was  most  unsatisfactory.  But 
Livia  was  not  disheartened.  If  no  conspiracy 
existed,  one  could  be  simulated  and  INIarcia 
was  instructed  to  instruct  the  parrot. 

Augustus  visited  his  daughter's  house  in  her 
absence,  and  interrogated  her  companion 
IMarcia,  and  her  devoted  maid  Phebe.  The 
latter  excitedly  swore  to  the  innocence  of  her 
mistress,  but  unfortunately  endeavoured  to 
prove  too  much,  manifestly  lying  in  her 
defence. 

No  man  ever  came  to  the  house,  not  even 
Ovid,  who  was  known  to  visit  it  daily.  INIar- 
cia contradicted  her  at  every  point.  Phebe 
denied  that  her  mistress  even  spoke  to  An- 
tonius;  Marcia  insisted  that  he  was  her  lover, 
— and  the  parrot  broke  in  upon  the  discussion, 
shrieking  for  Antonius  and  coupling  his  name 
with  terms  of  passionate  endearment. 

Julia  entered  at  that  moment,  and  compre- 
hending the  situation  without  being  able  to 
exercise  the  self-control  which  it  demanded, 
seized  the  parrot  and  wrung  its  neck  before 
her  father's  eyes. 

Struck  to  the  heart  by  what  seemed  to  him 
admission  of  her  guilt,  he  commanded  her  to 
remain  within  her  own  house,  and  3Iarcia  and 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  141 

Phebe   to   keep    silence   until   he    should    an- 
nounce his  verdict. 

Julia  was  too  mentally  unstrung  to  obey. 
She  wandered  about  the  streets  at  night  as 
usual,  and  the  spies  of  the  Emperor  reported 
her  demented  ravings,   stating  that   she  had 
even  mounted  the  Rostra  and  endeavoured  to 
incite  the  populace  to  rebellion.      Augustus 
himself  verified  the  truth  of  this  accusation. 
He  saw  her  hang  a  garland  upon  the  door 
of  the  temple  of  ^lars,  and  as  she  turned  from 
the  steps,  lulus  Antonius  took  her  arm  and 
gently  but  firmly  led  her  to  her  own  home, 
wht  ice  he  presently  issued  in  company  with 
Ovia.     The  next  night  the  same  performance 
was  repeated,  with  the  difference  that  on  this 
occasion  Sempronius  Gracchus  interrupted  her 
as   she  began  an  incoherent  harangue,   from 
the  Rostra.     Again  Ovid  was  seen  to  leave  her 
door,  this  time  in  company  with  Silanus;  on 
another  night  it  was  Ovid  himself  who  brought 
her  back,  and  on  still  another,  Antonius  again 
met  her  as  by  appointment. 

The  Emperor  had  seen  enough  to  condemn 
Julia;  but  two  constructions,  equally  terrible  to 
him,  could  be  put  upon  these  nightly  assigna- 
tions. IMars  was  not  alone  the  god  of  war,  he 
was  also  the  lover  of  Venus  and  the  patron  of 


142       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

illicit  love.  In  placing  trophies  at  his  shrine, 
Julia  was  either  shamelessly  announcing  her 
triumphs  in  this  field  or  beseeching  his  as- 
sistance in  the  conspiracy  for  her  father's 
assassination. 

Ovid  was  arrested,  brought  before  the  Em- 
peror, and  sternly  interrogated  as  to  which  of 
these  explanations  of  Julia's  conduct  was  the 
true  one — no  other  alternative  being  admitted 
as  possible.  Struck  with  mortal  terror,  he  yet 
denied  the  existence  of  any  plot  so  persistently 
and  with  such  apparent  honesty  that  Augustus 
was  convinced,  but  in  refuting  the  charge  of 
light  conduct,  Ovid  was  less  successful.  He 
explained  his  own  regular  visits  by  the  fact 
that  he  was  tutor  to  Julia's  younger  daughter. 
As  to  the  attentions  of  the  other  men,  they 
were  her  devoted  friends,  that  was  all. 

Unfortunately  other  pretended  witnesses 
brought  forward  by  Livia  were  more  precise, 
and  Julia  was  branded  by  them  as  a  profligate. 
Livia  herself  asserted  that  the  explanation  of 
the  desertion  of  Tiberius  was  knowledge  of 
crime  which  he  could  not  pardon  and  which 
his  consideration  for  the  Emperor's  feelings 
forbade  him  to  make  public. 

She  even  declared  that  Julia's  relations  with 
Antonius  had  been  long  continued  and  dotinglj'' 


The  Sono:  of  the  Sirens  143 


't> 


condoned  by  Agrippa.  Even  Ovid  admitted 
that  Agrippa  had  defended  her  on  the  occasion 
when  she  had  been  surprised  with  Antonius  in 
the  cave  at  Capri. 

Augustus  could  doubt  no  longer.  An- 
tonius was  instantly  imprisoned,  while  the 
battle  between  duty  and  affection  was  fought 
in  the  anguished  mind  of  the  Emperor  to  its 
grim  ending.  He  may  not  in  earlier  years 
have  been  possessed  with  the  passion  for 
righteousness  which  apparently  ruled  him  now, 
but  he  realised  that  the  only  sure  foundation 
fo  the  Empire  which  he  loved  was  the  im- 
pa  '"ial  administration  of  law.  Inflexible 
justice  was  with  him  no  hypocritical  pre- 
tence but  absolute  conviction.  He  was 
caught  in  the  inexorable  toils  of  circum- 
stance. As  the  conservator  of  public  morals, 
he  could  not  disobey  the  law  which  he  himself 
had  made  which  obliged  the  father  to  punish 
his  guilty  daughter  when  her  husband  refused 
to  do  so.  For  a  time  it  seemed  to  him  his 
duty  to  condemn  his  daughter  to  death,  but 
the  Senate  interceded  for  her,  and  he  softened 
his  sentence  to  the  announcement  of  her  di- 
vorce and  to  banishment  for  life  to  the  island 
of  Pandataria.  Sempronius  Gracchus  and 
others  accused  of  having  been  her  lovers  fled; 


144       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

some  even  committed  suicide;  others,  includ- 
ing Masgabas,  were  executed.  Ovid  was  ban- 
ished to  Tomi,  a  desolate  settlement  on  the 
shores  of  the  Black  Sea. 

Antonius,  against  whom  Augustus  was  par- 
ticularly incensed,  was  supposed  by  him  to  have 
been  put  to  death,  but  a  disquieting  rumour, 
which  Livia  dared  not  communicate  to  her  hus- 
band, reached  her  to  the  effect  that  Antonius 
had  escaped  on  the  eve  of  the  day  set  for  his 
execution.  Livia  had  triumphed,  but  it  needed 
an  outbreak  among  the  barbarians  to  effect 
the  recall  of  Tiberius.  Broken-hearted  and 
aging,  with  the  affairs  of  state  pressing  heavily 
upon  him,  Augustus  held  out  against  the  im- 
portunities of  his  wife  until  danger  threat- 
ened the  Empire  and  the  legions  demanded 
their  old  commander. 

"  For  the  sake  of  Rome,"  he  murmured,  as 
he  sealed  the  letter,  and  Livia's  victory  was 
complete. 


IV 


THE   ISLE   OF    TExVCE 

Gaunt,  giant  cedars  shoot  their  slender  spires 
By  beetling  crags  sheer  to  the  sapphire  sky, 
Reflected  in  the  deeps'  infinity 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  i45 

Like  flaming  embers  of  forgotten  fires. 
And  as  the  opal  glow  of  day  expires 
Over  the  shimmering  sea  of  Italy 
A  sijectre  boat  floats  shoreward  like  a  sigh, 
Bearing  its  burden  to  the  fatal  pyres. 

So,  when  life's  smouldering  sunlight  fades  away. 

And  melts  in  amethystine  mystery, 

To  that  charmed  isle  may  I  be  gently  borne 

Where  quiet  is  for  ever  and  a  day, 

And  naught  awakes  the  echoes  night  and  morn 

But  ceaseless  singing  of  the  restless  sea. 

Frere  Champney.i 

'  Velve  years  passed  by  during  which 
the  mercurial  Roman  populace  settled  them- 
selves to  the  old  order  of  things.  Tiberius 
was  a  good  fighter  and  had  fulfilled 
the  expectations  of  his  friends.  Leaving 
Germanicus  to  j:)lacate  the  conquered  country 
he  returned  to  Rome,  where  he  was  aj)parently 
reconciled  with  Augustus.  He  had  learned 
dissimulation  in  his  long  exile  and  his  de- 
meanour was  altered  for  the  better.  No 
longer  morose  and  insolent,  he  showed  the 
Emperor  such  filial  consideration  that  the 
latter  felt  that  he  had  misunderstood  his  char- 
acter and  at  last  made  him  his  heir. 

Augustus  realised  that  he  had  not  long  to 

1  See  frontispiece. 


146       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

live;  he  longed  for  strong  hands  to  which  to 
commit  this  adopted  daughter  of  his,  this 
Rome  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so  much. 
His  heart  had  grown  most  tender,  frequently 
tears  were  seen  in  his  eyes — and  those  nearest 
would  hear  him  murmur  the  names  of  Caius 
and  Lucius.  Often,  too,  an  expression  of 
more  poignant  pain  would  cross  his  face,  and 
though  he  spoke  no  word  it  was  evident  that 
he  was  thinking  of  Julia.  Among  the  cour- 
tiers there  was  one,  Fabius  JNIaximus,  who  had 
remained  faithful  to  her,  waiting  in  silence 
for  a  convenient  season,  which  he  now  believed 
had  arrived. 

Tiberius  was  again  to  go  to  the  front,  for 
the  Ostrogoths  east  of  the  Danube  were  un- 
easy. While  he  was  away  a  final  tentative 
might  be  made  and  Fabius  pleaded  with  the 
Emperor  for  his  youngest  grandson,  the  ban- 
ished Agrippa  Posthumus.  He  told  him  that 
the  hard  discipline  which  the  boy  had  under- 
gone had  made  him  repentant,  obedient,  and 
gentle,  and  he  begged  Augustus  to  see  the 
lad. 

He  pleaded  so  eloquently  that  the  Emperor, 
who  was  about  to  convey  Tiberius  to  the  fleet 
in  his  private  yacht,  consented  to  touch  at 
Planasia  on  his  return  and  judge  for  himself. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  147 

"  Agrippa  is  still  my  heir,"  he  said  thought- 
full}^  "  and  may  some  day  be  called  to  the 
throne.  I  sometimes  wonder,  Fabius,  if  I 
have  not  been  the  victim  of  some  terrible  de- 
lusion, and  the  death  of  Antonius  lies  heavily 
upon  my  conscience.  INIarcella  believes  that 
he  was  faithful  to  her.  I  acted  in  anger  and 
gave  him  no  opportunity  of  disproving  the 
charges  made  against  him." 

"  He  was  innocent.  Sire,  of  any  wrong  to 
you  or  your  daughter,"  Fabius  replied.  "  His 
01  ^y  crime  was  that  he  was  the  enemy  of 
Ti-^erius." 

"  Would  that  he  could  come  back  from  the 
grave  for  one  hour,  and  resolve  my  doubts ! " 
Augustus  exclaimed  fervently. 

*'  He  will  come  if  you  call  him,"  Fabius 
whispered.  "  He  is  not  dead  and  has  made 
Capri  his  refuge, — choosing  it  because  it  is 
near  to  Pandataria.  Each  day  until  Julia 
was  removed  to  her  prison  on  the  Straits  of 
Messina,  he  coasted  the  island,  sending  her 
messages  and  striving  to  effect  her  rescue.  I 
am  in  communication  with  him  by  means  of 
a  system  of  torch  signals  flashed  from  the  villa 
of  Lucullus  on  the  mainland  to  the  Isle  of 
Idleness  in  front  of  the  villa  of  your  sister,  the 
lamented  Octavia.     Here  is  the  code.     It  is 


148       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

very  simple — if  you  stop  at  Capri,  you  can 
meet  him." 

The  Emperor  seized  the  parchment  eagerly ; 
he  was  much  moved.  "  I  will  act  on  your 
suggestion,  and  spend  some  days  in  Capri. 
Livia  and  Tiberius  will  be  with  me,  but  I 
shall  find  an  opportunity  to  elude  their 
vigilance." 

There  was  a  slight  rustle,  the  swish  of  trail- 
ing feminine  drapery  upon  the  tessellated 
pavement,  and  Livia  stood  before  them.  She 
had  overheard  only  her  husband's  announce- 
ment of  his  intention  to  visit  Capri.  Possibly 
he  had  forgotten  and  Fabius  did  not  know 
that  Julia  had  been  removed  from  the  island 
of  Pandataria  to  the  strong  fortress  of  Scilla 
at  Rhegium.  Whatever  the  scheme  on  foot, 
she  would  soon  be  informed,  for  ^Marcia,  the 
wife  of  Fabius,  was  her  spy. 

Marcia  could  tell  her  only  that  Fabius  had 
confided  to  her  that  there  was  some  scheme 
on  foot  to  carry  the  boy  Agrippa  to  Germany 
and  confide  him  to  the  guardianship  of  the 
legions,  but  this  was  enough,  and  Fabius  died 
suddenly  the  day  following  the  departure  of 
Augustus  from  Rome,  ]Marcia,  in  the  first  un- 
guarded transports  of  her  grief,  crying  out 
that  she  had  unwittingly  caused  his  death. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  149 

Meanwhile  the  Emperor's  yacht  ghded 
gracefully  between  the  Faraglioni  pinnacles 
and  the  mainland  and  anchored  beneath  the 
villa  on  the  Punta  Tragara. 

It  was  years  since  Augustus  had  visited 
Capri,  and  the  island  was  associated  with  his 
happiest  memories.  The  young  Capriotes  re- 
ceived him  with  a  joyous  demonstration,  cele- 
brating his  coming  with  athletic  games,  at 
w^hich  the  Emperor  generously  distributed 
pi'zes.  He  gave  orders  also  that  a  banquet 
sh(  lid  be  served  upon  the  terrace  of  the  villa 
for  the  islanders  w4io  had  so  honoured  him, 
and  graciously  lajang  aside  etiquette  he 
chatted  familiarly  with  his  guests.  Long 
after  they  had  trooped  joyously  away  and  the 
sound  of  their  singing  had  died  in  the  distance, 
he  sat  with  Livia  and  Tiberius  upon  the  ter- 
race, watching  the  lights  come  out  upon  the 
opposite  shore  in  answer  to  the  star-signals  in 
the  quiet  sky. 

Suddenly  the  attention  of  the  little  group 
was  attracted  by  a  pyrotechnical  display  on 
the  little  island  at  their  feet.  Some  one  was 
skilfully  tossing  torches  into  the  air,  catching 
them,  whirling  and  tossing  them  again.  So 
great  was  the  juggler's  expertness  in  this 
species  of  sleight  of  hand  that  torch  after  torch 


150       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

joined  the  fieiy  dance, — five — six — seven,  the 
Emperor  counted,  and  then  they  intermingled 
with  such  dazzling  rapidity,  raining  such  a 
coruscation  of  sparks,  that  he  lost  his  count 
and  watched  the  human  centre  of  this  swirling 
vortex  of  meteors  with  admiration  and  as- 
tonishment. 

"  It  was  there  on  that  little  Isle  of  Idleness," 
he  said  musingly,  "  that  ^lasgabas  was  wont 
to  spear  fish  by  torchlight.  But  ^lasgabas, 
they  say,  is  dead." 

"  Dead  and  buried  in  what  was  once  his 
wine-cellar  on  his  loved  island,"  said  Thrasyl- 
lus,  the  astronomer,  who  had  left  his  lighthouse 
to  call  upon  them.  "  You  can  discern  the  en- 
trance to  his  tomb  ^  illuminated  by  the  torch- 
light. The  Greek  j^ouths  to  honour  his 
memory  frequently  play  with  torches  in  front 
of  it.  They  say  that  in  answer  to  that  invoca- 
tion a  phantom  boat  is  sometimes  seen  to  ap- 
proach the  island  and  disappear.  And  when 
this  occurs,  some  friend  of  INIasgabas,  who 
lolled  with  him  in  the  shade  of  the  cypresses 

1  This  tomb  and  an  ancient  staircase  cut  in  the  rock 
still  exist  upon  the  islet,  but  the  terrace  and  its  cypresses 
have  disappeared,  for  the  entire  island  of  Capri  and  its 
neighbouring  rocks  have  sunken  some  seventy  feet  since 
the  reigns  of  Augustus  and  Tiberius — submerging  the 
ruins  of  many  of  the  villas  of  that  day. 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  151 

in  the  old  days,  while  a  slave  brought  a  jar  of 
Falernian  from  the  cave, — some  such  boon- 
companion,  be  he  never  so  far  away,  is  sure 
to  join  him  within  three  days  at  the  banquet 
of  the  dead." 

As  he  spoke,  Tiberius  caught  the  Emperor's 
arm.  "It  is  there,  now,  I  see  it!  the  boat, 
the  boat!" 

All  looked  in  the  direction  in  which  Tiberius 
pointed,  and  distinctly  saw  a  small  skiff  pro- 
j  'lied  by  a  single  oarsman  illumined  in  the 
glare, — and,  standing  in  the  bow,  a  tall  figure 
robed  in  white.  An  instant  later  it  had  van- 
ished, utterly  swallowed  up  by  the  shadows. 

Augustus  called  for  his  tablets,  but  he  was 
no  poet,  and,  ashamed  to  acknowledge  the 
authorship  of  the  lines  which  he  tossed  to 
Thrasyllus,  he  pretended  that  he  had  read  them 
in  the  works  of  some  Greek  author  whose  name 
he  could  not  recollect. 

Thrasyllus  read  the  fragment  aloud: 


"  They  glitter  bright 
With  radiant  light, 

The  gates  we  dread  to  pass. 
With  torch  and  song 
We  follow  on 

To  join  thee,  Masgabas." 


152       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

The  applause  was  faint-hearted,  for  a  vague 
uneasiness  had  fallen  upon  the  little  company. 

"Is  it  an  omen  of  death?"  Tiberius  asked 
of  Thrasyllus. 

"  I  have  said,"  the  other  replied,  *'  and  it 
is  the  death  of  one  of  the  great  ones  of  earth. 
Possibly  the  Emperor.  Come  with  me  to  my 
obser\^atory  and  I  will  consult  the  stars,  for 
your  life  also  is  menaced." 

They  waited  until  Augustus  retired.  He 
had  ordered  a  couch  placed  on  the  terrace,  for 
the  night  was  sultry,  and  when  they  stole  away 
he  was  sleeping  peacefully. 

Presently  he  stirred  and  spoke  confusedly. 
He  was  dreaming  of  the  old  days  when  his 
sister,  Octavia,  presided  in  this  villa,  filling  it 
with  love  and  joy. 

The  children  were  here  again,  he  could  hear 
their  shouts  as  they  clambered  about  the  cliffs, 
Julia's  laughter  wildest  of  all.  She  was  danc- 
ing on  the  marble  balustrade,  the  rampart  of 
the  terrace ;  and  the  boy  Antonius  was  beating 
time  with  his  hands,  recklessly  urging  her 
on. 

As  usual  in  dreams,  Augustus  tried  to 
speak,  but  could  not  at  first  warn  Julia  of 
her  danger.  Faster,  faster  she  danced  and 
nearer  to  the  verge,  till  Augustus  in  his  agony 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  153 

cried  aloud,  "  Save  her — Antonius,  Antonius, 
save  JuHa !  " 

"  I  am  here,"  rephed  the  voice  of  Antonius 
at  his  side,  "  but  it  is  only  you,  Sire,  who  can 
save  Julia." 

The  Emperor  sat  up  thoroughly  awakened, 
and  stretched  out  his  arms  to  Antonius,  who 
knelt  before  him.  "  I  have  had  you  sum- 
moned not  to  punish  you,"  he  said,  "  but  to 
know  more  of  this  miserable  business.  Tell 
me  the  truth,  Antonius,  is  my  daughter  as 
wicked  as  they  tell  me?  " 

"  She  is  innocent,  I  swear  it  by  all  the  gods." 

Augustus  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  But  can 
you  prove  it,  Antonius,  by  other  testimony 
than  your  own? " 

"  I  can.  Recall  Ovid  and  he  will  explain 
his  statement  on  which  she  was  condemned. 
We  were  endeavouring  to  collect  testimony 
which  would  fix  the  responsibility  of  the 
murders  of  Caius  and  Lucius,  and  were  too 
successful.  Persons  in  high  authority  were 
implicated.  The  proofs  were  to  have  been 
immediately  laid  before  a  special  court  of  in- 
quiry, when  a  spy  reported  our  proceedings 
and  Ovid  was  arrested.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  it  was  a  lighter  crime  to  be  admirers 
of   Julia's   than   conspirators   and   he   so   ex- 


154       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

plained  our  secret  visits  to  her  house.  It  was 
a  fatal  mistake;  we  could  make  no  counter- 
charge, for  our  proofs  had  been  stolen  and 
were  in  the  hands  of  our  enemies,  who  were 
overjoyed  to  have  a  pretext  for  our  ruin  which 
would  leave  the  true  question  at  issue  un- 
probed." 

All  the  pent-up  longing  in  the  father's 
heart  rose  with  a  mighty  impulse  and  over- 
whelmed his  doubts,  his  stern  ideas  of  justice, 
and  his  dread  of  consequences.  "  I  do  not 
ask  you  whom  you  suspect,"  he  replied;  "  until 
you  can  gather  new  proofs  't  is  idle  to  accuse. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  believe  that  Julia  is 
not  the  vile  creature  I  believed.  I  must  see 
her.     Oh,  my  girl,  my  girl!  " 

"  Yes,  you  must  see  her,  and  looking  into 
her  clear  eyes  j^ou  will  know  how  you  have 
wronged  her,"  exclaimed  Antonius. 

The  Emperor  pondered  deeply.  "  Listen, 
Antonius,"  he  said.  "  I  am  an  old  man,  near- 
ing  the  term  of  life.  What  I  have  to  do  I 
must  do  quickly.  I  have  purposed  vaguely 
to  pardon  Julia  at  some  future  day,  when  she 
should  have  expiated  her  fault.  But  if  your 
statements  can  be  proven,  she  will  stand  vindi- 
cated, and  it  is  I  who  must  be  forgiven.  I 
will   accompany   Tiberius   as   we   planned   to 


The  Sonor  of  the  Sirens  155 


'£5 


Benevento,  where  he  takes  leave  of  me  to  sail 
to  Illyricum.  From  Benevento  I  will  send 
Livia  to  Rome  by  land,  and  will  then  sail 
directly  to  Rhegium — and  take  Julia  home, 
— touching  here  for  you  and  at  Planasia  for 
Agrippa." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  will  show  that  I  am  still  Emperor  of 
Rome." 

Antonius  sank  upon  his  kness,  and  poured 
forth  his  gratitude.  "  Your  clemency  has 
been  shown  in  time  to  save  me  from  a  fatal 
mistake,"  he  confessed.  "  I  had  perfected  my 
arrangements  to  rescue  Julia  from  the  castle 
of  Scilla.  The  guards  are  bribed,  and  the 
ship  which  you  see  in  the  offing  was  to  have 
taken  me  on  board  at  daybreak.  I  should 
have  carried  her  to  Egypt,  where  we  would 
have  vanished  for  ever  from  the  sight  of  the 
world." 

Augustus  smiled  benignly.  "  I  cannot 
blame  you,"  he  said,  "  but  there  is  a  better 
future  before  you  both  than  that." 

There  was  a  slight  sound  as  of  whispering 
in  the  interior  of  the  villa,  and  Antonius 
dropped  behind  the  parapet.  It  was  Tiberius, 
who  had  returned  from  his  star-gazing  with 
Thrasyllus.     "  He  says  that  the  Emperor  or 


156       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

I    will    surely    die,    within    three    days,"    he 
muttered. 

"  Hush!  "  Livia  replied.  "  I  also  have  grave 
news.  Antonius  has  been  here  and  Augustus 
has  promised  to  reinstate  Julia." 

*'  Impossible!     Then,  indeed,  I  am  ruined." 

"  He  has  but  this  moment  left.  Alarm  the 
guards,  they  may  even  now  apprehend  him." 

But  Antonius  had  disappeared,  and  when 
Livia  stole  upon  the  terrace,  her  husband 
greeted  her  with  a  happier  smile  than  she  had 
seen  upon  his  face  for  years. 

"  I  feared  your  sleep  might  have  been  dis- 
turbed," she  said;  "some  one  has  been  prowling 
about  the  villa  during  the  night." 

"  One  of  the  young  islanders  doubtless,  who 
drank  too  much  of  our  good  wine." 

"  Tiberius  fears  it  may  have  been  an  assas- 
sin; but  be  reassured,  he  will  be  caught,  the 
blood-hounds  have  been  placed  on  the  scent." 

Augustus  turned  quickly  and  looked  toward 
the  Isle  of  Idleness.  A  skiff  was  leaving  the 
shore,  and  a  man  seated  in  the  stern  waved 
his  hand.     Augustus  returned  the  salute. 

"  How  loyal  these  Capriote  fishermen  are!  " 
he  said  smiHngly.  "  Tiberius  is  groundlessly 
suspicious.     Let  the  search  be  discontinued." 

He  called  for  food  and  Livia  brought  him 


The  Sons:  of  the  Sirens  157 


•t> 


fruit,  figs  which  she  had  that  morning  plucked 
in  the  villa  garden,  of  which  she  partook  with 
him,  peeling  them  with  a  little  silver  knife, 
the  blade  poisoned — so,  long  after,  the  sinister 
rumour  ran — upon  one  side  only.  Shortly  after 
this  the  party  left  for  Neapolis,  and  Capri  saw 
its  sovereign  no  more. 

Nor  did  Antonius,  though  he  watched  each 
niffht  from  the  Sirens'  cave  for  the  return  of 
the  Emperor's  yacht.  Instead  the  torch  sig- 
nals of  the  successor  of  INIasgabas  conveyed 
to  him  the  tremendous  news  of  the  sudden 
death  of  Augustus. 

He  had  been  taken  violently  ill  at  Neapolis 
and  had  been  conveyed  to  Nola,  where  he  had 
passed  away  attended  devotedly  by  Livia. 
Tiberius  had  been  recalled  in  time  for  a  long 
interview,  after  which  the  Emperor  had  faced 
his  death  with  cheerful  confidence. 

"  The  drama  is  ended,"  he  murmured ;  "  have 
I  not  well  performed  my  part?  The  heavy 
folded  curtain  has  descended  and  far  away 
and  faint  sounds  the  applause." 

None  can  tell  what  commands  the  dying 
Emperor  left  for  his  successor  to  execute;  but 
if  he  fancied  that  the  last  act  in  his  life  drama 
was  one  of  reparation,  he  was  sadly  deceived. 
There    was    no   mercy    in    the   iron   heart    of 


158       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Tiberius.  While  the  pompous  funeral  pro- 
cession proceeded  slowly  toward  Rome,  an  exe- 
cutioner on  his  way  to  Planasia  outstripped 
it,  and  the  boy  Agrippa,  strangled  for  no 
crime  but  that  of  birth,  was  buried  in  that 
lonely  isle  on  the  same  day  with  his  imperial 
grandfather. 

Death  came  more  slowly  and  in  a  more  terri- 
ble form  to  Julia.  From  the  castle  of  S cilia 
all  other  dwellers  were  removed  and  the  doors 
walled.  The  guards  had  been  changed  and 
the  barbarous  Scythians  who  paced  the  outer 
defences  heard  piteous  cries  for  days,  and  from 
a  grated  window,  high  in  the  grim  dungeon, 
whose  foundations  still  frown  from  the  cliff, 
white  hands  were  waved  seaward  to  a  bark, 
which  flitted  close  to  the  shore  unmindful  of 
the  whirlpool  of  Charybdis.  An  onslaught  was 
made  one  night,  but  after  fierce  fighting  the 
sentries  drove  away  the  rescuing  party.  Then 
more  days,  during  which  the  bark  flitted  in 
the  offing,  and  the  cries  ceased,  for  Julia  had 
died  of  starvation. 

History  tells  how  Tiberius  improved  the 
great  opportunity  which  fate,  or  his  mother's 
crimes,  had  given  him.  There  was  no  need  of 
further  hypocritical  pretence ;  in  lust,  in  drunk- 
enness,   and    cruelty,   he    fulfilled   his   bestial 


THE  VILLA  OF  TIBERIUS  AT   CAPRI 
From  a  reconstruction  by  C.  Weichardt 


i 


i 


The  Song  of  the  Sirens  159 

nature.  But  the  constant  fear  of  assassination 
gave  his  coward  soul  no  rest.  Rome  would 
suffer  much  but  not  everything.  He  could 
think  of  no  safer  fortress  from  the  vengeance 
of  an  outraged  populace  than  Capri;  and  on 
the  almost  inaccessible  headland  at  its  north- 
eastern extremity  beside  the  great  lighthouse, 
he  built  the  palace  whose  fortifications  and 
barracks,  whose  long  suites,  ante-chambers, 
and  guard-rooms,  labyrinthine  corridors,  sub- 
terranean passages,  and  secret  exits  tell  the 
story  of  his  constant  fear. 

Abandoning  Livia  to  die  of  his  ingratitude 
and  Rome  to  the  mismanagement  of  deputies, 
he  fortified  himself  here  for  the  last  ten  j^ears 
of  his  life,  making  them  one  long  orgy  of 
cruelty  and  debauchery.  And  one  evening, 
the  visitor  whom  he  had  expected  came. 

Tiberius  was  standing  on  the  platform  of 
the  lighthouse  with  Thrasyllus,  waiting  for 
darkness  and  the  appearance  of  the  stars.  As 
his  apprehensive  glance  swept  the  shore  of  the 
island,  it  was  attracted  by  a  light  in  front  of 
the  tomb  of  JNIasgabas.  A  boat  was  approach- 
ing the  islet,  and  the  Emperor  caught  the  arm 
of  his  companion,  who  directed  his  glass  in 
that  direction.  "  A  woman  is  standing  in  the 
entrance  of  the  tomb,"  said  the  astronomer; 


i6o        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  she  is  extending  her  arms  as  though  in  wel- 
come toward  the  approaching  boat.  One 
might  almost  fancy  that  she  is  singing,  but 
she  is  too  far  away  for  her  song  to  reach  us." 

As  they  strained  their  ears,  another  dull 
sound,  as  of  knocking,  was  distinctly  heard 
by  each.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  earth 
beneath,  and  the  faces  of  the  listeners  were 
grey  with  superstitious  dread,  when  suddenly 
the  door  of  the  staircase  leading  to  the  Sirens' 
cave  was  flung  violently  open. 

Tiberius  had  not  forgotten  this  passage  and 
had  ordered  it  filled  with  earth.  It  had  taken 
Antonius  many  months  to  re-excavate  it,  but 
he  had  accomplished  the  task  at  last.  He  had 
not  expected  to  find  himself  immediately  in 
the  presence  of  the  man  he  sought,  but  he  made 
a  sudden  rush,  only  to  be  tripped  by  Thrasyllus 
and  pinned  to  the  floor  by  the  giant  wrestler 
who  was  the  Emj)eror's  inseparable  body- 
guard. 

"  Call  the  torturers,"  cried  the  terrified  Em- 
peror, "  and  when  they  have  done  their  v\'orst, 
throw  him  over  the  cliff." 

In  the  confusion  that  ensued,  Antonius 
wrenched  himself  from  his  captors  and  dashed 
back  to  the  cave  which  had  been  his  hiding- 
place,  and  latterly  had  also  been  his  prison. 


The  Sons:  of  the  Sirens  i6i 


't) 


For  many  days  past  the  sea  beneath  had  been 
patrolled  by  soldiers  in  boats,  while  workmen 
had  obliterated  the  path  which  led  from  the 
shore  to  the  cave,  rendering  the  already  al- 
most perpendicular  cliff  absolutely  unscalable. 
Even  if  revenge  had  not  driven  Antonius 
from  his  retreat,  hunger  would  soon  have  done 
so  for  the  gulls'  eggs  upon  which  he  had 
subsisted  were  now  exhausted. 

The  soldiers  hesitated  for  a  little  space  to 
follow  him,  and  standing  in  the  open  entrance 
to  the  cave-temple  he  looked  down  the  sheer 
face  of  the  precipice  upon  the  sentries.  They 
were  evidently  being  signalled  from  the  palace, 
for  they  were  looking  upward,  but  presently 
they  caught  sight  of  him  and  gesticulated  ex- 
citedly. He  heard  a  trampling  upon  the 
staircase — the  only  alternative  was  death  by 
torture ;  then,  while  he  hesitated,  the  air  seemed 
filled  with  singing: 

"  Come  Love,  from  sorrow  and  from  struggle  cease, 
One  refuge  fails  not — 't  is  the  Isle  of  Peace." 

Yes,  there  were  torches  waving  yonder  and 
white  hands  fluttering  as  he  had  seen  them 
from  the  dungeon  of  Scilla — he  lifted  his 
arms  high  and  leapt. 


1 62       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

With  clubs  and  oars  they  beat  the  semblance 
of  humanity  from  the  white  face  that  rose  to 
the  surface.  The  inrushing  tide  caught  the 
mangled  form  and  swept  it  into  the  whirlpool. 
Round  and  round  three  times  it  swirled,  then 
disappeared,  sucked  down,  a  reddish  stain 
lingering  for  an  instant,  then  washed  away 
by  a  new  influx  of  frothing  breakers.  Again 
the  sound  of  distant  singing  was  borne  shore- 
ward by  the  wind.  "  It  is  the  song  of  the 
Sirens,"  said  Thrasyllus;  "they  have  claimed 
their  own." 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  LOVES  OF  HORACE 


THEY  glide  through  his  odes,  a  charming 
sisterhood:  Cinara,  Lyce,  Neeera,  Barine, 
Lydia,  Chloe,  Glycera,  Phidyle,  and  Phylhs; 
"  whose  liquid  and  beautiful  names  are  almost 
poems  in  themselves."  Like  a  procession  of 
Nereids,  their  fair  faces  appear  for  an  instant 
and  vanish  on  the  rhythmic  swell  of  the  perfect 
verse  of  Horace. 

So  faultless  is  his  artistry,  so  restrained 
within  the  limits  of  good  taste,  except  in  rare 
instances,  is  each  contrasting  emotion,  that  the 
conviction  cannot  be  dispelled  that  our  poet  is 
merely  romancing, — this  is  the  glamour  of 
imagination  depicted  with  exquisite  literary 
skill,  not  the  expression  of  deep  and  genuine 
feeling.  Some  of  the  poems  are  addressed  to 
women  prominent  in  Rome,  but  in  these  the 

163 


1 64       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

love  professed  is  evidently  mere  compliment 
and  persiflage.  In  others  the  sentiment  rings 
true  while  the  personality  is  vague, — the  poet 
is  dreaming  of  an  elusive  ideal.  In  still  others 
there  is  displayed  a  facility  and  an  artificiality 
which  stamps  them  as  the  product  of  the  suc- 
cessful author  turned  out  by  the  volume  to 
fill  the  orders  of  an  applauding  public  and  of 
publishers  who  outbid  each  other  for  the  privi- 
lege of  supplying  the  demand. 

It  is  no  proof  of  the  actual  existence  of  all 
the  ladies  who  figure  as  the  heroines  of  the 
odes  that  Horace  purports  in  the  series  to  re- 
veal his  0W71  heart  history.  To  have  passed 
through  such  numerous  experiences,  he  must 
have  been  a  veritable  Don  Juan,  and  not  the 
frugal,  moderate,  immensely  industrious,  and, 
above  all,  kindly-hearted  gentleman  that  we 
know  him  to  have  been.  We  remember,  too, 
that  he  wrote: 

That  man  I  hold  true  master  of  his  art 

Who  with  fictitious  woes  can  wring  my  heart, 

and  are  not  overcredulous. 

If  we  are  to  believe  the  pretended  confes- 
sions, the  impulsive  and  indiscriminating  affec- 
tions of  the  poet  rose  on  the  swell  of  each 


U3 
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UJ 

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2  .E 

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z.  - 

<  S 
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or 


The  Loves  of  Horace  165 

impression  as  promptly  as  a  seaworthy  httle 
craft  responds  to  famihar  billows — but  if  so 
these  agitations  were  no  meaningless  sea-saw. 
At  the  close  of  his  adventurous  voyage,  his 
heart  found  quiet  harbourage  in  a  port  of  true- 
love  not  unlike  the  one  from  which  he  set  sail ; 
— for  in  Phyllis,  "  of  all  my  loves  the  last,"  he 
reverts  to  a  reincarnation  of  Cinara,  his  first 
love,  who  died  in  early  youth. 

Whether  we  look  upon  the  odes  as  pure 
fiction  or  sober  autobiography,  we  shall  learn 
much  from  their  study,  for  here  are  the  ideals 
of  the  most  cultured  mind  of  the  Augustan 
age,  ideals  formed  by  acquaintance  with  the 
women  with  whom  we  have  for  a  brief  space 
been  living  in  imagination,  from  Octavia  and 
Livia,  from  Julia  and  Sulpicia,  depicted  not 
alone  with  witching  charm,  but  with  the  real- 
ism which  is  never  lacking  from  consummate 
art. 

The  most  sceptical  of  critics  must  admit  that 
two  of  the  poet's  portraits  are  studies  from  life 
— Cinara  and  Lyce  are  not  fictitious  char- 
acters. Each  in  her  different  way  made 
upon  Horace  an  ineffaceable  impression  which 
coloured  permanently  his  view  of  life. 

Few  real  lives  have  so  consistent  a  plot. 
Most  straggle  confusedly  with  no  worthy  pur- 


i66       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

pose  or  obviously  satisfactory  ending.  The 
poems  of  Horace  form  an  ordered  composi- 
tion whose  plan  is  so  skilfully  concealed  as  not 
to  be  immediately  evident.  The  character  of  the 
hero  develops  through  his  susceptibility  with 
a  unified  progression,  recoiling  only  to  advance 
like  the  foliated  convolutions  of  some  antique 
moulding. 

But  it  is  to  be  noticed  that  each  sweet- 
heart, however  she  may  differ  in  minor  re- 
spects, is  an  exemplar  of  one  of  two  types, 
the  seductive  enchantress,  whose  love  is 
death,  or  the  good  angel, — that,  in  fact,  Lyce 
and  Cinara  reappear  under  many  disguises  and 
names,  and  that  despite  his  boasted  connois- 
seurship,  Horace  never  really  knew  more  than 
two  women. 

Of  Cinara  Sir  Theodore  Martin  says :  "  If 
Horace  ever  had  a  feeling  which  deserved  the 
name  of  love  it  was  for  Cinara."  When  he 
was  past  fifty  he  recalls  in  a  letter  to 
Mascenas : 


The  woes  blabbed  o'er  our  wine  when  Cinara  chose 
To  tease  me,  cruel  flirt,  oh,  happy  woes! 

Though  courted  by  the  wealthy  and  eager 
for  luxury,  he  assures  us  that  he  was  beloved 
by  Cinara,  "  for  his  own  simple  sake." 


The  Loves  of  Horace     '       167 

"  Few  years  the  fates  to  Cinara  allowed  " 
("Cinarae  brevis  annos  fata  dederunt") .  Had 
she  lived  the  whole  trend  of  his  life  might  have 
been  different  and  the  odes,  if  indeed  they  are 
a  true  transcript  of  his  experiences,  would 
never  have  been  written.  We  wish  we  could 
believe  that  it  was  after  her  early  death  that 
he  was  initiated  into  the  darker  phases  of  love 
by  Lyce, 

Who  breathing  Love's  own  air 

Me  of  myself  bereft, 
Who  reigned  in  Cinara's  stead,  a  fair,  fair  face. 
Queen  of  sweet  arts. 

Lyce  was  a  lady  of  wealth  and  position. 
Horace  mentions  her 

Coan  silks  and  jewels  bright  as  stars. 

He  reproaches  her  playfully  for  allowing  him 
to  serenade  her  in  vain  one  stormy  night. 
Horace  is  sophisticated  now  and  we  discern 
beneath  the  fluent  elegance  of  the  practised 
writer  and  the  flippant  wit  of  the  man  of 
the  world  a  tragic  trifling  with  edged 
tools: 

To  Lyce 

Pity  sweet  Lyce  the  poor  shivering  bard 
Who  serenades  thee  in  the  sleety  rain. 


1 68       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Sure  no  barbarian  maid  has  heart  so  hard, 
Or  treats  her  lover  with  such  cold  disdain. 


Hark,  how  the  wind  pipes  high  and  moaneth  low, 
And  shrill  respond  the  hinges  of  thy  gate, 

See  how  the  cedars  curtsey  'neath  the  snow 
And  thou  alone  art  proud  and  obdurate. 

As  bleak  your  villa  as  an  Alpine  chalet 

Where  all  in  vain  I  sing  and  sigh  and  quake, 

For  though  your  lord  forsakes  you  for  the  ballet 
You  still  are  heartless  as  a  Moorish  snake. 

And  yet  I  ween  some  day  you  '11  wish  to  marry. 
Though  long,  long  hence  you'll  find  me  waiting 
still— 

Unless,  you  foolish  prude,  too  long  you  tarry 
And  rheumatism  should  your  lover  kill ! 

The  fascination  of  married  ladies  over  men 
younger  than  themselves  is  apt  to  be  brief — 
and  it  is  to  the  same  Lyce  that  Horace  ad- 
dresses the  bitter  lampoon  beginning: 

Yes,  Lyce,  age  now  claims  you  for  her  own, 

Though  still  you  struggle  to  look  young  and  fair 
And  ape  in  song  and  dance  love's  dreamy  air; 

Your  voice  has  lost  its  erstwhile  tender  tone. 

The  luring  beauty  now  has  wholly  flown 
From  eyes  once  lustrous  as  your  jewels  are; 
As  in  a  net  you  bound  me  with  your  hair, 

Though  loved  by  Cinara  for  myself  alone. 


The  Loves  of  Horace  169 

The  last  stanza  shows  that  the  feehng  which 
prompted  this  tirade  was  not  altogether  ig- 
noble. He  holds  Lyce  responsible  for  the 
inconstancy  which  broke  the  heart  of  the 
loving  girl  whose  death  has  awakened  him  to 
remorse : 

For  passion  of  my  reason  so  made  theft 
That  for  your  favour  I  my  honour  sold. 

But  when  the  world  of  Cinara  was  bereft 
My  heart  returned  to  its  allegiance  old, 

And  though  the  fates  decree  that  you  are  left 
Love's  flame  is  quenched  and  all  its  ashes  cold. 

Shortly  after  his  awakening  from  his  infatu- 
ation for  Madam  Lyce,  while  Horace  believed 
himself  incapable  of  loving  again,  he  met 
the  incomparable  Lydia, — the  toast  of  the 
young  bloods  of  Rome,  the  most  admired  of 
all  the  belles  among  its  aristocratic  society. 

The  first  ode  addressed  to  her  was  in  re- 
monstrance for  her  cruelty  to,  and  probably 
at  the  instance  of,  his  friend,  the  accomplished 
knight  Sj^baris,  formerly  pre-eminent  in  all 
athletic  sports,  but  now  imagined  to  be  dying 
for  love  of  her.  It  is  a  patent  example  of  the 
vers  de  socicte,  the  graceful  banter  of  which 
Austin  Dobson  is  a  past  master,  and  the  fol- 


170       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

lowing  parody  is  hardly  more  than  a  mod- 
ernisation of  its  badinage; 


Why  Lvdia,  why,  you  saucy  minx, 
Doth  Sybaris  shun  the  golfing  links? 
He  whom  at  polo  none  could  tire, 
All  manly  sports  his  heart's  desire, 
Kow  from  a  racing  auto  shrinks. 
And  ne'er  appears  at  skating-rinks, 
Or  poker  plays,  or  smokes  or  drinks, 
Or  takes  on  aeroplane  a  flyer — 
Why,  Lydia,  why? 

Erst  Lord  of  Revels  and  High  Jinks, 
He  who  was  one  of  fashion's  pinks, 
Why  flaunts  he  not  in  gay  attire 
IS^or  plays  the  races?     We  admire 

The  chorus-girls — he  lonely  slinks. 
Why  Lydia,  Why? 


The  poet's  pleading  M'as  irresistible — like  that 
of  John  Alden  it  gained  the  heart  of  the  cruel 
beauty,  not  for  his  friend,  but  for  himself. 

But  Lydia  throws  Horace  over  for  the 
handsome  Calais,  and  the  poet  attempts  to 
awaken  her  jealousy  by  a  pretence  of  love- 
making  to  the  pretty,  childish  Chloe,  who  flees 
him  like  a  timid  fawn  and  whose  simplicity  he 
playfully  rallies.    Eugene  Field  has  well  pre- 


The  Loves  of  Horace  171 

served  the  banter  of  this  mock  courtship  in 
his  translation: 

But  Chloe,  you  're  no  infant  thing 

That  should  esteem  a  man  an  ogre, 
Let  go  your  mother's  apron-string, 

And  pin  your  faith  upon  a  toga. 
A  mother's  solace  may  be  sweet 

But  Hymen's  tenderness  is  sweeter, 
And  though  all  manly  love  is  meet, 

You  '11  find  the  poet's  love  is  metre. 

One  sees  that  even  so  inexperienced  a  girl 
as  Chloe,  if  indeed  she  really  existed,  must 
have  comprehended  that  this  was  mere  fun  and 
fooling,  while  the  famous  reconciliation  dia- 
logue is  manifestly  a  little  comedy  to  be  sung 
and  acted  at  some  fashionable  fete,  possibly 
by  the  principals  themselves. 

The  Reconciliation 

HORACE 

While  on  thy  snowy  breast  I  happy  lie. 
And  thy  soft  arms  about  me  gently  twine, 

My  love,  my  Lydia,  Persia's  empery 

Seems  not  so  dear  as  that  sweet  smile  of  thine. 

LYDIA 

While  in  thy  heart  no  other  love  did  flame, 
Nor  after  Chloe  Lydia  didst  thou  prize, 


172       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Thy  verse  re-echoing  only  Lydia's  fame 
Raised  it,  like  Ilia's,  to  the  highest  skies. 

HORACE 

Now  Thracian  Chloe  holds  me  in  a  spell, 
Enthralled  by  such  bewitching  melody 

Of  lyre  and  voice,  my  life  I  'd  gladly  sell 
If  fate  my  better  self  would  spare  to  me. 

LYDIA 

And  I  to  Ornyth's  son  am  just  as  dear. 
He  loves  me  more  than  all  the  world,  and  I 

To  save  his  life  not  Atropos  would  fear, 
For  his  dear  sake  a  double  death  I  'd  die. 


HORACE 


What  if  the  old-time  love  once  more  awake, 
And  bind  me  captive  with  its  golden  chain? 

If  Chloe's  amber  braids  I  now  forsake 
May  I  thy  dusky  tresses  kiss  again? 


LYDIA 


Though  he  be  fairer  than  the  evening  star, 
Thou  rougher  than  the  Adriatic  Sea — 

Inconstant  as  its  fickle  surges  are — 

Happy  I  'd  live — thrice  happy  die  for  thee ! 


The  Loves  of  Horace  173 

We  find  still  another  ode  addressed  to  the 
coquette,  which  sounds  the  note  of  a  short- 
lived jealousy: 

Lydia,  when  you  tauntingly 

Talk  of  Telepheus,  praising  him 

For  his  beauty  vauntingly, 
Far  beyond  me  raising  him, 

His  rosy  neck  and  arms  of  alabaster, 

My  rage  I  scarce  can  master.^ 

With  this  reproach  Lydia  vanishes  and 
Barine,  who  is  only  an  intensified  Lyce,  must 
be  next  considered.  Barine  is  the  acknow- 
ledged queen  of  the  Greek  hetser^e,  the  demi- 
monde who  dashed  down  the  Via  Appia  in 
light  chariots,  lashing  the  hearts  of  better 
women  than  themselves  with  each  fillip  of  their 
slender  whips. 

Wealthy  fathers  and  devoted  mothers — so 
Horace  writes — dreaded  her  influence  over 
their  wild  sons: 

While  brides,  new-wedded,  feared  the  charms 
That  kept  their  husbands  from  their  arms. 

She  was  a  real  personage.  Lord  Lytton  is 
positive,  "  whom  Horace  addresses  in  a  tone 

1  Francis  Mahony    ("Father  Prout"). 


174       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

which  to  such  a  woman  would  have  been  the 
most  exquisite  flattery."  But  we  are  relieved 
to  learn  that  the  poet  who  so  addresses  her  is 
a  clear-headed  observer,  and  not  her  lover: 

If  for  thy  perjuries  and  broken  truth, 
Barine,  thou  hadst  ever  come  to  harm, 

Hadst  lost  but  in  a  nail  or  blackened  tooth 
One  single  charm, 

I  'd  trust  thee ;  but  when  thou  art  most  forsworn, 
Thou  blazest  forth  with  beauty  most  supreme, 

And  of  our  young  men  art,  noon,  night,  and  morn, 
The  thought,  the  dream.^ 

Glycera,  the  Nemesis  of  Tibullus  (whose 
acquaintance  we  have  already  made  in  our 
first  chapter) ,  was  another  dangerous  woman, 
whose  fascination  Horace  admits  that  he  did 
not  entirely  escape,  but  the  wounds  made  by 
her  eyes  were  by  no  means  incurable,  and  we 
share  the  satisfaction  with  which  he  turns  to 
PhylHs,  his  "  very  last  of  loves." 

Here,  says  Martin,  we  have  the  true 
Horace,  and  after  all  these  doubtful  ladies  it 
is  pleasant  to  come  across  a  young  beauty  like 
this  Phyllis, 

sic  fidelem,  sic  lucro  aversam, 

a  fragrant  violet  among  the  languorous  hot- 
house splendours  of  the  Horatian  garden. 

1  Sir  Theodore  Martin. 


The  Loves  of  Horace  17 5 

She  was  a  Thracian  singer,  a  slave  bought 
in  some  Grecian  mart  by  his  friend  Xanthias, 
who  fell  in  love  with  her,  but  hesitated  to 
marry  her,  for  marriage  with  the  Romans  was 
as  serious  a  matter  as  with  us,  and  family  and 
social  position  were  of  prime  consideration. 

Horace  writes  to  his  friend  with  the  laud- 
able desire  of  encouraging  him  to  honourable 
wedlock.  He  urges  that,  though  a  slave,  a  girl 
of  such  rare  character  must  be  of  noble  birth 
and  worthy  the  love  of  any  man,  whatever  his 
rank. 

Blush  not  my  friend  Xanthias  of  true-love  ashamed 
That  't  is  but  a  handmaid  who  makes  thee  so  blest, 

The  captive  Briseis  Achilles  inflamed, 

And  bound  him  a  slave  to  her  marble-white  breast. 


And  could  we  discover  her  family-tree, 

I  doubt  not  Greek  heroes  and  kings  we  should  find, 

While  the  mother  of  Phyllis  must  certainly  be 
As  fair  as  her  daughter,  and  just  as  refined. 

Her  form  like  a  statue,  her  ankles  so  trim 

A  connoisseur's  eyes  cannot  choose  but  admire. 
Don't  be  jealous,  dear  fellow,  my  sight's  growing 
dim, 
Though  my  taste  's  still  correct,  age  protects  from 
love's  fire. 


176       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

As  in  his  previous  interference  in  behalf  of 
his  friend  Sybaris,  his  action  has  an  unexpected 
result.  Xanthias  evidently  comprehends  that 
Horace  is  more  deeply  interested  than  he  him- 
self realises,  perhaps  that  Phyllis  returns  his 
affection;  and  instead  of  marrying  his  hand- 
maiden, he  must  self-sacrificingly  free  her  and 
allow  the  course  of  true  love  to  take  its  own 
sweet  way. 

That  Horace  followed  the  course  which  he 
marked  out  for  his  friend  and  married  Phyllis, 
we  would  love  to  believe,  though  no  record  of 
the  contract  has  come  down  to  us.  Instead 
we  have  only  his  delightful  invitation  to  her 
to  celebrate  with  him  the  birthday  of  JNIs- 
cenas  at  his  Sabine  farm,  with  a  hint  that  the 
handsome  lady-killer,  Telepheus,  had  again 
crossed  his  path. 

In  all  probability  "  the  proud  and  wealthy 
maid "  to  whom  he  refers  is  the  fickle 
Lydia. 

To  PlujUis 

A  cask  of  Alban  wine 
Mellowed  by  winters  nine, 
Fresh  parsley  too  and  sprays  of  ivy  green 
My  gardeners  prepare, 
With  violets  shy  and  fair 


PHYLLIS 
From  the  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux 


I 

I 


I 


The  Loves  of  Horace  t77 

Which  'mid  thy  amber  tresses  should  be  seen, — 
Sweet  Phyllis,  swiftly  come  and  be  my  queen. 

My  walls  with  silver  shine 

And  vervain  ^  wreathes  the  shrine 
Where  waits  the  sacrifice,  a  yearling  sheep. 

The  house  swarms  like  a  hive 

With  servitors  alive. 
While  on  the  hearth  the  lambent  flame  doth  leap. 
Dear  Phyllis,  come  with  me  and  revel  keep. 

Time  now  is  at  the  Ides 

Which  this  fair  month  divides; 
Young  April,  dear  to  Venus  ocean-born,<_- — 

My  natal  day  I  prize 

Less  than  its  smiling  skies, 
For  my  Maecenas  claims  this  happy  morn. 
Fair  Phyllis,  do  not  leave  me  all  forlorn. 

For  Telepheus  you  sigh, 
A  lad  of  lineage  high, 
Enamoured  of  a  proud  and  wealthy  maid. 
Put  that  ambition  by 
And  dry  your  charming  eye, 

1  Vervain    was     supposed    to     conduce    to    merriment. 
Fletcher  alludes  to  this  ancient  Italian  superstition  in  his 
Faithful  Shepherdess : 
"  And  thou  light  vervain  too,  thou  must  go  after, 
Provoking  easy  souls  to  mirth  and  laughter. 
No  more  shall  I  dip  thee  in  water  now 
And  sprinkle  every  post  and  every  bough 
With  thy  well-pleasing  juice  to  make  the  gnomes 
Swell  with  huge  mirth,  and  with  joy  all  the  rooms." 


12 


T, 


178       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Forget  the  falseness  of  that  fickle  blade. 
Fond  Phyllis,  come  unto  my  Sabine  glade. 

Remember  Phaeton, 

And  rash  Bellerophon  * 

Whose  winged  steed  to  Heaven  would  soar  elate. 

O  heed  my  warning  kind, 

Be  modest  in  your  mind, 
And  seek  a  lover  of  your  own  estate, — 
Sweet  Phyllis,  am  not  I  a  fitter  mate? 

Of  loves  you  are  my  last. 

All  lesser  passions  past, 
For  thee  alone  my  constant  heart  doth  long. 

Such  pleasure  never  cloys. 

So  let  thy  matchless  voice. 
Whose  subtle  sweetness  charms  the  listening  throng, 
Dear  Phyllis,  lend  its  magic  to  my  song. 

Whatever  may  be  our  opinion  as  to  the  auto- 
biographical value  of  the  odes,  we  must  con- 
cede that,  as  a  suite,  they  have  a  conscious  or 
unconscious  unity  in  their  variety,  a  progression 
in  spirals  toward  a  definite  end.  Every  music- 
lover  must  remember  a  parallel  composition 
in  the  development  of  the  warring  themes 
which  strive  in  ]Mendelssohn's  Symphony  in  A 
major.  The  clarinets  introduce  the  first  theme 
in  an  exquisite  melody  breathing  all  the  fresh- 
ness and  fragrance  of  the  woods.  But  this 
melody,  though  recurring  again  and  again,  is 


The  Loves  of  Horace  179 

constantly  overpowered  by  the  second  theme 
as  rendered  by  the  dehrious  vioHns  and  the 
tumultuous  brass. 

Do  not  the  odes  of  Horace  interpret  this 
strife  as  the  eternal  conflict  between  sacred 
and  profane  love? 

Like  the  liquid  tones  of  a  clarinet, 

Or  the  piping  of  Pan  in  groves  of  pine, 
Was  the  song  of  Love  when  first  I  met 

My  Cinara,  sweet  as  a  clinging  vine. 
Yet  lost  was  that  melody  pure  and  fine, 

Drowned  in  the  clamour  of  cymbals  and  lyre, 
When  passionate  Lyce's  eyes  met  mine, 

For  the  mad  blood  leapt  in  my  veins  like  fire. 

Soon  that  phrensy  passed,  and  the  clarinet 

Brought  woe  to  my  heart,  to  my  eyes  the  brine. 
But  vain  the  repentance  and  vain  regret, 

Vain  the  garlands  hung  at  a  dead  love's  shrine. 
For  hearts  that  are  young  cannot  always  pine, 

Barine  danced  to  the  cymbals  and  lyre 
And  grief  was  forgotten  in  music  and  wine. 

While  the  mad  blood  leapt  in  my  veins  like  fire. 

Then  Glycera's  glances,  the  frail  coquette. 
And  Lydia's  kisses  and  wiles  were  mine. 

With  Chloe  sweet  as  a  violet, 

Nseera,  with  tresses  that  tangle  and  twine, 

For  my  loves  like  the  muses  numbered  nine. 
They  dance  in  time  to  the  throb  of  the  lyre 


i8o       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

And  the  clang  of  the  cymbals  with  eyes  that  shine, 
And  the  mad  blood  leaps  in  my  veins  like  fire. 

\ Gladdened,  not  maddened,  it  dances  yet, 
Calmed  by  a  flute  from  a  grove  of  pine, 
For  my  lost  first-love  in  Phyllis  I  met, 
;  \^  Who  sings  my  songs  with  a  voice  divine. 
'  \Yes,  I  am  content  in  my  vale  Sabine, 

Though  I  see  when  I  hear  the  swell  of  the  lyre  { 

iPhantoms  that  mingle  and  intertwine  ,f 

And  the  mad  blood  leaps  in  my  veins  like  fire. 

I 
Horace  rounds  the  cycle  of  his  loves  very  J 

charmingly,  but  for  all  his  protestations  we  do  ? 

not  believe  in  the  seriousness  of  such  multi- 
farious emotions.  He  is  a  typical  confirmed 
bachelor, — though  he  professes  to  covet  the 
Ijlacens  uxor  (winsome  wife)  who  ji 

The   cheerful   home  with   sweet  young  blossoms 
fills— 
Of  some  stout  Sabine,  or  the  sunburned  bride  i 

Of  the  lithe  peasant  of  the  Apulian  hills,  ■ 

Who  piles  the  hearth  with  logs  well  dried  and  old  ? 

Against  the  coming  of  her  wearied  lord; 
And  when  at  eve  the  cattle  seek  the  fold 

Drains  their  full  udders  of  the  milky  hoard; 
And  bringing  forth  from  her  well-tended  store 

A  jar  of  wine,  the  vintage  of  the  year. 
Spreads  an  unpurchased  feast, — oh !  then  not  more 

Could  choicest  Lucrine  oysters  give  me  cheer.^ 

1  Martin's  translation. 


i 

5, 

1 


The  Loves  of  Horace  i8i 

But  he  is  well  content  with  his  oysters  and 
his  memories.  Professor  Tyrrell  happily  says 
that  he  knows  of  no  poem  in  Enghsh,  not 
professedly  an  imitation,  more  Horatian  in 
tone  than  Thackeray's  Age  of  Wisdom: 

Forty  times  over  let  Michaelmas  pass, 
Grizzling  hair  the  brain  doth  clear, 
Then  you  know  a  boy  is  an  ass, 
Then  you  know  the  worth  of  a  lass. 
Once  you  have  come  to  forty  year. 

Gillian  's  dead — God  rest  her  bier, 
How  I  loved  her  twenty  years  syne ! 

Marian  's  married,  but  I  sit  here 

Alone  and  merry  at  forty  year, 

Dipping  my  nose  in  the  Gascon  wine. 

We  must  agree  that  while  Horace  appre- 
ciated the  grace  and  fascination  of  women, 
"  his  whole  being  had  never  been  penetrated 
by  the  genuine  fire  of  love.  We  seek 
in  his  ditties  in  vain  for  the  tenderness,  the 
negation  of  self,  the  passion,  and  the  pathos 
which  are  the  soul  of  all  true  love  poetry." 
To  feel  this  vividly,  we  have  but  to  compare 
his  jocund  muse  with  the  passionate  utterances 
in  which  "  Catullus  has  struck  those  terrible 
chords  which  have  given  us  the  very  vibration 


1 82       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  his  heart,"  in  that  marvellous  series  of  poems 
which  depicts  the  story  of  his  love  for  Lesbia. 
Neither  the  love  nor  the  genius  of  Horace 
ever  escaped  the  control  of  his  reason,  while 
that  of  Catullus  quivered  on  the  borderland 
of  insanity.  Temperamentally,  Swinburne 
recognises  in  him  his  prototype: 

My  brother,  my  Valerius,  dearest  head 
Of  all  whose  crowning  bay-leaves  crown  their  mother 
Rome,  in  the  notes  first  heard  of  thine  I  read 
My  brother. 

No  dust  that  death  or  time  can  strew  may  smother 

Love  and  the  sense  of  kinship  only  bred 

From  loves  and  hates  at  one  with  one  another. 

Tibullus,  Sulpicia,  Ovid,  all  owed  an  im- 
mense debt  to  Catullus,  but  Horace  is  in  every 
respect  his  absolute  contrast.  And  yet,  though 
our  poet  probably  never  felt  the  grand  pas- 
sion, he  has  shown  himself  in  such  imaginative 
poems  as  the  ode  to  Hypermnestra  capable  of 
depicting  an  intenser  love  and  a  noble  type  of 
womanhood  than  any  which  came  within  his 
personal  experience.  In  his  poem  to  Cleo- 
patra, also,  he  shows  an  appreciation  of  the 
pathos  as  well  as  the  tragedy  of  her  fate,  and 
a  sympathy  for  an  unpopular  woman  which. 


LESBIA 
From  a  painting  by  Diana  Coomans 
(With  permission  of  Ad.  Braun  et  Cie.) 


w 


The  Loves  of  Horace  183 

flaunted  as  it  was  in  the  very  face  of  Au- 
gustus, betokens  a  rare  chivahy  and  independ- 
ence of  character. 

The  Death  of  Cleopatra 

As  with  unerring  flight  a  falcon  swift 

Swoops  down  upon  a  poor  defenceless  dove, — 
Or  as  the  huntsman  scales  the  snowy  drift 

And  tracks  the  stag  to  his  retreat  above. 
So  with  relentless  fury  Csesar  came, 

Driving  from  port  to  port  in  doubt  and  fear 
With  overwhelming  force  and  lurid  flame 

His  fluttering  prey,  who  knew  her  end  was  near. 
No  refuge  sought  she  on  some  foreign  shore. 

Or  shunned  her  doom,  't  was  better  thus  to  die 
In  her  own  realm,  her  fathers'  gods  before. 

Than  like  a  tigress  in  Rome's  cage  to  lie. 
Mid  dim  deserted  halls  alone  she  stood 

And  to  the  aspic  gave  her  royal  blood. 
Better  deliberate  death  than  Roman  scorn, 

To  die  a  Queen  than  live  a  slave  forlorn. ^ 

His  friendships  with  men,  especialty  with 
Maecenas,  and  his  love  for  his  brother  poets, 
might  well  form  the  theme  of  another,  and  a 
more  satisfying  chapter.  Of  lulus  An- 
tonius,  of  whose  poems  we  knew  only  through 
the  enumeration  which  Horace  gives  us,  he 
writes : 

1  Translated  by  Frere  Champney. 


1 84      Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Worthy  Apollo's  laurel  wreath, 

Whether  he  strike  the  lyre 

To  love  and  young  desire, 
While  bold  and  lawless  numbers  grow  beneath 

His  mastering  touch  of  fire. 

Appreciative  of  his  peers  and  generous  to 
would-be  rivals,  his  wit  had  no  sting;  he  was 
essentially^  a  man's  man,  the  most  clubable  of 
good  fellows,  and  his  character  ripened  like 
luscious  fruit,  growing  mellower  and  sweeter 
in  the  autumn  of  his  life.  Augustus  enrolled 
him  among  his  councillors  with  Livy  and  Vir- 
gil, under  the  title  of  Professor  of  Public 
Morals,  and  it  was  probably  at  this  time  that 
he  declared: 

So  now  I  bid  my  idle  songs  adieu 

And  turn  my  thoughts  to  what  is  just  and  true. 

The  palace  of  Maecenas  with  its  magnificent 
library  and  gardens  was  always  at  his  disposal, 
and  not  a  lordly  villa  at  Antium  and  Baise 
but  would  have  been  honoured  could  it  have 
counted  him  its  guest.     Of  these  he  writes: 

No  summer  palace  vast  for  me, 
Whose  walls,  deep  sunk  beneath  the  sea, 
Planned  by  some  skilful  architect, 


The  Loves  of  Horace  185 

Rise  like  the  masts  of  galley  wrecked, 

And  fright  the  fishes, 
As  the  great  builder's  burly  gang 
The  concrete  fix  with  noisy  clang. 

I  've  other  wishes. 

If  demon  Care  must  be  my  bride, 
Within  my  brazen  trireme  ride, 
And  in  my  lofty  towers  reside 

Like  monster  Scylla, 
The  many-columned  colonnade, 
A  white  procession  in  the  shade 

Of  that  fair  villa, 
Its  grand,  pilastered  vestibule. 
Of  pavonazzo  marble  cool, 

Which  snow,  faint-tinged  with  violet,  seems. 
Where  purple,  gold-starred  drapery  gleams. 
Could  never  make  for  me  a  home. 
Its  regal  iridescent  dome 

I  'd  deem  a  bubble. 
So  why  exchange  my  Sabine  farm. 
For  weary  wealth,  for  Care's  alarm 

And  endless  trouble?  ^ 

"  I  shall  not  wholly  die,"  he  said,  with  sure 
foreknowledge,  shortly  before  they  laid  him  by 

1  Csementa:  mixture  of  small  stones  and  mortar,  con- 
crete. 

Redeniptor,  contractor  or  architect. 

Phrygiuslapis,  marble  from  Synnada,  Phrygia,  white 
spotted  with  violet. 

Postibus  invidendis,  pilastered  door,  or  colonnade  within 
the  hall. 


1 86       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  side  of  his  loved  friend,  Maecenas,  on  that 
sad  November  day,  eight  years  before  the 
Christian  era, — the  kindly,  large-hearted  man, 
so  broadly  humane  that  he  will  be  read  and 
loved  by  scholars  while  the  world  lasts;  and 
that  even  the  little  farm  is  immortal. 


His  little  house,  his  Sabine  farm! 

The  hillside  and  the  river  I 
There  beat  his  kindly  heart  and  warm: 

There  died — to  live  for  ever. 

Note. — The  translations  quoted,  except  where  credited, 
are  chiefly  by  E.  Frere  Champney. 


DOMITIAN 

Vatican  Museum 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  VILLA  OF  UNHAPPY  LOVE 


THE   RETURN    OF    CIRCE 

The  perfume,  and  the  music,  and  the  flame 
Had  passed  away ;  the  memory  of  shame 

Alone  abode,  and  stings  of  faint  desire. 
And  pulses  of  vague  unrest  went  and  came. 
Ah,  Circe!  in  thy  sad  changed  fairy  place. 
Our  dead  Youth  came  and  looked  on  us  a  space, 

With  drooping  wings,  and  eyes  of  faded  fire, 
And  wasted  hair  about  a  weary  face. 

Andrew  Lang. 


"  T  TELL  you  no  foreigners  can  enter  Rome 
*  without  authorisation  of  the  Harbour 
Master,"  reiterated  the  sentry  at  the  Portus 
Trajani.  "You  should  have  seen  to  that 
when  you  landed." 

187 


i88       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  But,"  persisted  the  traveller,  "  this  is  an 
altogether  exceptional  case.  INIy  mistress,  the 
Queen  of  Chalcis,  owns  a  house  upon  the 
Palatine,  formerly  the  property  of  her  brother, 
King  Agrippa,  to  which  she  is  now  returning. 
I  have  been  sent  in  advance  to  make  it  ready 
for  her.'* 

"  Your  mistress  may  be  queen  of  all  the 
rest  of  the  earth,  but  she  is  not  queen  of  Rome. 
We  have  but  one  ruler  here,  and  that  is  the 
Emperor  Titus.  When  he  gives  permission, 
you  may  enter — not  before." 

"  I  bear  a  letter  to  the  Emperor,  and  ask 
nothing  better  than  permission  to  deliver  it  to 
him  in  person." 

"  Doubtless,  and  so  would  any  mad  assas- 
sin. But  the  Emperor's  person  is  safe- 
guarded better  than  that.  Strangers  can 
reach  him  only  through  the  proper  officials. 
Your  story  of  a  queen  of  some  outlandish 
country  is  more  than  likely  trumped  up  to 
mask  some  villainy;  but  if  not,  you  are  in 
luck,  for  here  comes  the  very  man  you  would 


5J 

see. 


a 


Is  that  the  Emperor  Titus?"  asked  the 
foreigner,  as  two  horsemen  approached. 

"  No,  but  the  one  so  richly  accoutred  is  his 
brother.  Prince  Domitian,  while  the  older  man 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       189 

was  with  the  Emperor  at  the  siege  of  Jeru- 
salem, and  there  is  none  so  well  informed  in 
foreign  affairs  as  he." 

"  And  his  name?  " 

"  Gessius  Florus,  sometime  Procurator  of 
Judea.  He  will  know  at  once  whether  your 
mistress  should  be  permitted  the  freedom  of 
the  city." 

The  stranger  uttered  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
may, but  the  officious  guard  had  already 
saluted  Florus  and  now  hurriedly  explained 
the  situation.  Florus  listened,  at  first  indif- 
ferently, impatient  of  the  delay,  but  when  his 
ear  caught  the  words,  "  Queen  of  Chalcis,"  he 
burst  forth  in  a  violent  rage. 

"  No,  by  Pluto,  by  all  the  furies,  no.  No 
she-devil  spawn  of  the  Herods  shall  gain  ac- 
cess to  the  Emperor.  Back  to  your  mistress, 
and  bid  her  pack  to  Asia.  Let  her  not  set 
foot  on  shore,  for  if  she  attempts  to  enter 
Rome,  by  the  eternal  gods,  I  will  kill  her." 

The  Prince  pricked  his  ear,  curious  as  to 
what  had  so  excited  his  companion. 

"  It  is  Berenice,  daughter  of  one  Herod  and 
widow  of  another, — a  vile  family  which  has 
the  habit  of  concentrating  its  vices  by  breeding 
in  and  in, — I  knew  them  better  than  I  wished, 
and  your  brother  better  than  he  should, — and 


190       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

now  this  enchantress  and  wanton  has  dared  to 
follow  him  to  Rome;  but  rather  than  allow 
her  to  cross  his  path  again,  I  will  slay  her  as 
I  would  a  viper." 

"  Stop  a  moment,  my  good  Florus.  Was 
she  not  in  Rome  with  her  brother  Agrippa 
before  Nero  established  him  as  king  over 
Judea?  I  have  a  vague  memory  that  I  met 
her  then  and  that  she  was  not  repulsive. 
Ought  not  this  matter  to  be  referred  to  Titus  ? 
He  may  not  share  your  repugnance  for  the 
lady." 

"  The  very  reason  why  he  must  not  see  her 
— would  I  trouble  myself  to  fight  her  if  I  did 
not  fear  her? " 

"  For  the  lady's  sake  as  well,"  said  Do- 
mitian  thoughtfully,  "it  were  safer  that  she 
should  depart.  The  populace  of  Rome  cher- 
ish for  her  your  own  warm  feelings.  Were 
she  to  regain  my  brother's  favour,  they  would 
drag  her  naked  through  the  streets  to  her 
death  as  they  did  Vitellius." 

"  And  him  also,"  Florus  assented  with  a 
groan.  "  The  people  of  Rome  will  not  en- 
dure another  Nero.  Titus  has  won  them  be- 
cause they  believe  him  in  earnest  in  his  policy 
of  reform  of  every  kind.  If  he  disappoints 
them,   they   would   not   hesitate   in   their   in- 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       191 

dignation   to   depose   or   even   to   assassinate 
him." 

Domitian  started.  "  Do  you  think  so?  "  he 
asked,  a  sinister  thought  revealing  itself  for 
an  instant  in  his  face. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  other  grimly. 
"  Vespasian  had  those  beaten  with  rods  who 
dared  say  that  your  brother  loved  her,  but  he 
lashed  his  son  more  mercilessly  with  his 
tongue,  for  he  knew  that  it  was  true.  And 
I,  who  carried  out  the  old  Emperor's  orders, 
and  frustrated  her  schemes  again  and  again 
in  the  East,  burning  her  palace  in  Jerusalem 
so  that  she  could  not  return  thither  when  the 
prince  took  the  city, — I,  who  mocked  and 
laughed  at  her,  driving  her  from  the  camp, 
when  she  came  theatrically  garbed  in  sack- 
cloth, with  dishevelled  hair  and  bare  feet,  to 
beg  Titus  for  mercy  for  the  Jews,  nor  suf- 
fered him  to  see  that  irresistible  semblance  of 
distress, — I,  who  wearied  the  gods  with  my 
thanks  when  he  forsook  his  wild  ways  and  be- 
came worthy  of  his  high  office — I  tell  you 
that  this  very  I,  who  love  him  more  than  man 
ever  loved  his  son,  would  slay  him  with  my 
own  hand  rather  than  see  him  take  to  liis  heart 
that  piece  of  corruption." 

"  You  are  right,"  assented  Domitian,  "  she 


192       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

must  not  be  allowed  to  remain  in  Italy.  But 
we  must  do  things  legally,  my  good  Florus. 
Seek  the  pretor  at  once  and  obtain  an  order 
for  her  deportation." 

"  But  this  will  consume  time,"  objected 
Florus. 

"  Which  can  be  spent  in  no  better  way.  If 
this  matter  should  come  to  the  ears  of  the 
Emperor,  it  w^ere  well  to  have  it  appear  that 
you  acted  under  orders,  and  thus  allow  an- 
other to  bear  the  blame.  I  will  in  the  mean- 
time detain  our  lady  at  the  port;  thence  on 
your  arrival  a  quick  voyage  to  her  own  country 
to  Queen  Berenice !  " 

Convinced  but  reluctant,  Florus  rode  into 
the  city,  while  Domitian  dashed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  seaport.  He  had  not  ridden  far 
when  he  caught  sight  of  the  messenger,  who 
had  halted  in  the  path  of  the  cavalcade  of  the 
Queen  of  Chalcis,  which  was  now  rapidly 
approaching.  Riding  beside  the  litter  of 
Berenice  Domitian  was  surprised  to  recognise 
a  close  friend  of  his  brother's,  the  Roman 
knight  Cfficina,  who,  chancing  to  be  at  the 
harbour  on  the  arrival  of  the  Queen,  had 
gallantly  offered  his  escort  to  Rome. 

The  report  of  her  courier  had  evidently 
thrown  them  both  into  consternation,  and  Do- 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       193 

mitian  appeared  upon  the  scene  in  the  hght 
of  a  deliverer.  He  greeted  Berenice  with 
extravagant  expressions  of  delight.  "  I  was 
a  witness,"  he  exclaimed,  "  of  the  indignity 
to  which  you  have  been  submitted,  and  I  have 
come  to  anticipate  the  apologies  and  repara- 
tion which  my  brother  will  doubtless  offer, 
when  he  hears  of  the  insolence  of  his 
subordinate." 

She  strove  to  reply,  but  her  teeth  chattered 
and  every  vestige  of  colour  had  fled  from  her 
ashen  cheeks.  Domitian  noted  the  tell-tale 
lines  of  age,  the  drawn  lips,  the  dark  hol- 
lows from  which  glared  the  terror-glazed 
eyes. 

Under  favourable  conditions  he  might  have 
found  her  captivating,  but  she  had  been  sur- 
prised at  a  disadvantage,  fear  had  for  the  mo- 
ment obliterated  the  waning  beauty  of  this 
woman  once  the  most  lauded  of  her  time,  and 
Domitian  muttered  to  himself,  "  Hag  and 
harpy,"  while  he  plied  her  with  compliments 
and  protestations  of  welcome. 

Berenice  in  turn  studied  the  face  before 
her.  The  uncouth  boy,  whom  she  scarcely  re- 
membered, had  developed  into  a  magnificent 
specimen  of  physical  manhood,  and  a  jovial 
expression  softened  the  lines   of  the   sensual 


13 


194       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

mouth,  which  as  yet  gave  no  hint  of  the  cruelty 
of  later  years. 

Panic-stricken  by  the  mere  name  of  her 
enemy,  Florus  (whose  barbarous  massacre  of 
her  countrymen  she  had  witnessed),  she 
clutched  frantically  at  the  protection  offered 
by  Domitian.  "  But  what  can  I  do,"  she 
reiterated,  "  since  this  wretch  is  determined 
to  kill  me  if  I  do  not  instantly  leave  Italy?  " 

"  We  must  convince  him  that  you  have  done 
so,"  Csecina  exclaimed.  "  I  have  a  villa  at 
Antium  which  is  at  your  service.  You  must 
ostentatiously  re-embark  with  all  your  suite, 
apparently  for  Asia;  but  I  will  bribe  the  cap- 
tain of  the  vessel  to  land  us  at  Antium,  whence 
you  can  communicate  at  your  leisure  with 
Titus." 

Domitian  scowled,  and  Berenice  reflected 
intently.  She  had  taken  this  presumptuous 
step  without  the  slightest  authorisation  from 
the  Emperor,  fearing  to  submit  a  written  re- 
quest to  his  sober  judgment,  uninfluenced  by 
the  charm  of  her  personal  fascination.  Un- 
willing to  forego  her  chief  advantage,  she 
begged  Domitian  to  think  of  some  means  of 
introducing  her  into  the  city. 

"  This  will  be  impossible,"  he  replied  "  until 
the  vigilance  of  Florus  is  relaxed;  and  in  the 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love        195 

meantime?  Ah!  I  have  it.  Accept  Cacina's 
offer  so  far  as  your  embarrassing  retinue  is 
concerned.  Let  them  wait  your  bidding  at 
Antium  until  you  have  my  brother's  permis- 
sion to  enter  Rome;  but  do  you  ride  with  me 
to  the  villa  of  my  niece,  Flavia  Domitilla, 
which  is  close  at  hand?  She  will  gladly  keep 
you  in  hiding  until  I  can  arrange  an  interview 
with  Titus." 

Berenice  hesitated,  andDomitian,  seizing  her 
in  his  arms,  mounted  her  upon  the  horse  of 
one  of  her  attendants,  tempering  the  masterful 
action  with  vehement  entreaties  and  vows  of 
devotion.  "  Trust  me,  only  trust  me,"  he 
urged,  "  and  I  swear  by  all  the  gods  that  I 
will  make  you  Empress  of  Rome." 

"  I  will  trust  you,"  she  replied,  "  for  I  am 
desperate." 

Followed  only  by  her  most  indispensable 
tirewoman  perched  upon  a  sumpter  mule  laden 
with  the  Queen's  treasure-chest  and  a  bale  of 
finery,  they  struck  into  a  side  road  leading 
across  the  country  in  the  direction  of  the  Via 
Appia;  while  her  htter,  in  which  one  of  the 
maids  had  taken  her  place,  was  conducted  by 
Caecina  in  frantic  haste  to  Ostia. 

The  Princess  Flavia  Domitilla,  though  not 
actually  in  residence  at  the  Villa  Amaranthi- 


196       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

ana,  had  driven  out  that  day,  to  give  orders 
to  the  workmen  who  were  restoring  the  house 
in  preparation  for  her  marriage  with  her 
cousin,  Flavins  Clemens. 

"We  shall  not  occupy  the  villa  for  some 
months,"  she  replied  graciously,  as  her  uncle 
preferred  his  request,  "  and  if  your  friend  will 
not  be  inconvenienced  by  the  repairs  which  are 
in  progress,  I  am  sure  that  Clemens  will  be 
glad  to  place  it  at  her  service." 

Domitian  frowned.  "  Domitilla,"  he  said, 
"  the  ladv  for  whom  I  beg  vour  courtesy  is 
in  great  trouble,  even  danger,  and,  until  I  can 
arrange  with  the  Emperor  for  her  protection, 
I  must  beg  you  to  keep  her  presence  here  a 
secret.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  she  is  from 
Judea,  and  not  only  far  from  home  and 
friendless,  but  of  a  religion  proscribed  in 
Rome." 

A  startled  look  flashed  across  Domitilla's 

face. 

"  Rely  upon  my  absolute  secrecy,"  she  re- 
phed,  and  added  to  Berenice:  "  Noble  Lady, 
my  villa  is  honoured  by  receiving  you.  Ste- 
phanus  will  execute  your  orders.  You  may 
trust  him  implicitly,  for — "  she  hesitated, 
observing  that  Domitian  regarded  her  curi- 
ously,— "  for  he  is  absolutely  faithful," — and 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love        197 

her  hand  passed  nervously  from  her  brow  to 
her  breast  as  she  hurriedly  took  her  leave. 

If  this  was  a  signal,  only  the  freedman 
Stephanus  comprehended,  for  Berenice's  gaze 
was  fixed  upon  Domitian. 

*'  I  go  to  Rome,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  "  to  inform  Titus  of  the  treasure 
which  awaits  him  here.  If  he  cannot  come 
instantlv,  I  at  least  will  return  to-morrow, 
bringing  you  some  message  from  him." 

"  How  can  I  reward  such  disinterested- 
ness?" she  asked,  striving  with  stealthy  half- 
shut  eyes  to  penetrate  the  expressionless 
features. 

"  Can  you  ask? "  he  replied,  flashing  into 
well-simulated  emotion.  "  I  am  not  disinter- 
ested. I  loved  you  hopelessly  as  a  boy.  I 
love  you  so  insanely  now  that  I  will  be 
your  slave  in  all  things,  even  to  aiding  you  to 
become  my  brother's  wife;  but  I  am  not  dis- 
interested, and  when  your  ambition  is  accom- 
plished I  shall  claim  my  reward." 

She  did  not  flinch,  for  she  had  expected 
this  reply.  It  fell  in  line  with  her  experi- 
ence. With  the  exception  of  Florus,  men  had 
always  loved  her.  It  never  occurred  to  her 
that  here  might  be  another  exception,  and, 
without  pausing  to  ask  herself  the  motives  of 


198       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

his  pretended  devotion,  she  took  Domitian's 
face  between  her  hands  and  whispered,  "  Be 
my  true  knight,  and  when  I  am  Empress,  you 
shall  be  my  lover." 

"  And  not  before? "  he  laughed  mockingly, 
holding  her  close.  She  lay  unresisting,  but 
unresponsive,  in  his  arms,  while  he  kissed  her 
again  and  again. 

When  he  had  done,  she  faced  him  fearlessly 
and  contemptuously.  "  Only  a  brute  takes 
what  is  not  willingly  given.  If  you  wish  me 
to  love  you,  Domitian,  you  must  earn  my 
love." 

"  And  be  tricked  in  the  end,  with  my  service 
for  my  pains,  like  that  fool  Caecina? "  he 
retorted. 

She  flushed,  but  answ^ered  imperiously,  "  I 
have  given  you  my  word.  C^ecina  cannot  say 
that  he  is  tricked,  for  I  have  promised  him 
nothing,  he  has  asked  nothing  but  service." 

A  momentary  flash  of  genuine  admiration 
gleamed  in  Domitian's  eyes.  "  You  are  a 
wonderful  woman,"  he  said,  "  and  I  wait  your 
pleasure." 

Outside  the  gate  he  laughed  again  as  he 
struck  spurs  to  his  horse.  "  C^ecina  shall  have 
more  of  unrewarded  service  than  he  dreams," 
he  muttered,  "  for  I  will  make  his  love  serve 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love      199 

my  scheme,  as  well  as  the  hatred  of  Florus; 
but  I  will  guard  you  from  that  until  my 
brother  has  brought  ruin  upon  himself  by 
marrying  you,  for  you  too,  shall  serve  me  ere 
I  crush  you,  serpent  though  you  are." 

Berenice,  left  alone,  also  laughed.  "  You 
are  a  beast,  Domitian,"  she  said  to  herself, 
as  she  knotted  her  girdle  disarranged  by  his 
rude  caresses;  "but  if  you  dare  to  demand 
the  fulfilment  of  my  promise  when  I  am  Em- 
press—then if  Titus  does  not  have  you 
strangled," — she  put  aside  the  hands  of  her 
tirewoman,  who  would  have  tied  her  scarf,  and 
exclaimed,  drawing  it  tight  with  so  tragic  a 
gesture  that  the  woman  trembled  in  spite  of 
the  commonplace  words — "my  hands  are 
stronger  than  you  think,  I  can  do  it  myself." 

Cascina,  chivalrous  and  unsuspicious,  was 
serving  with  all  his  heart,  and  had  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  effect  the  departure  of  Bere- 
nice's suite  before  the  arrival  of  Florus. 

The  latter  had  been  detained  longer  in 
Rome  than  he  had  anticipated,  the  pretor, 
Valerius  Licianus,  insisting  on  referring  the 
question  of  Berenice's  deportation  to  the  Em- 
peror. A  visit  to  the  Palatine  had  effected 
only  an  appointment  for  the  following  after- 
noon, and  Florus,  unwilling  to  wait,  hastened 


200       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

to  the  port  determined  to  feign  imperial  aa- 
thority  and  force  Berenice  to  leave  the  country. 
Greatly  relieved  by  Csecina's  assurance  that 
she  had  already  fled,  a  statement  which  was 
confirmed  by  many  witnesses,  he  passed  the 
night  at  Portus  Trajani  and  returned  to  Rome 
on  the  following  day  with  the  young  knight, 
whom  he  persuaded  to  accompany  him  in  his 
call  upon  the  Emperor. 

They  found  Domitian  lounging  in  the  audi- 
ence chamber,  listening  with  an  appearance  of 
the  utmost  indifference  to  the  report  which 
the  pretor  was  in  the  act  of  making.  Titus, 
evidently  under  the  influence  of  some  strong 
emotion,  greeted  Caecina  absently  and,  address- 
ing Florus,  said  sternly:  "I  am  much  dis- 
pleased that  the  Queen  of  Chalcis  should  have 
been  submitted  to  the  discourtesy  of  being  re- 
fused admission  to  the  city,  and  I  desire  that 
an  immediate  apology  be  offered  her." 

Florus  chuckled.  "  It  is  too  late,  Sire,"  he 
replied,  "  the  lady  has  run  away." 

"Has — what?"  demanded  Titus  sharply. 

"  Has  cleared  the  country,  as  Csecina  can 
bear  witness.  We  have  just  returned  from 
the  harbour  whence  she  sailed  yesterday  with 
her  Jewish  rabble — and  a  good  riddance  to  the 
entire  crew,  I  call  it." 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       201 

"Your  opinion  is  not  asked,"  Titus  re- 
torted with  averted  face.  But  Florus  de- 
tected in  the  altered  tone  an  expression  of 
infinite  relief,  and  could  scarcely  disguise  his 
dehght,  as  he  said  to  himself:  "  He  is  pleased! 
He  had  done  with  her!  Daughter  of  the  In- 
fernal gods,  I  need  not  have  feared  you.  You 
had  no  chance.  Praise  he  to  the  furies,  you 
had  no  chance." 

Domitian  and  Cjecina  regarded  each  other 
significantly,  the  face  of  the  younger  man 
anxious  and  questioning,  while  Domitian 
nodded  encouragement.  It  was  Valerius  Lici- 
anus,  however,  who  broke  the  embarrassing 
silence. 

"  Florus  is  so  far  right,"  he  said,  "  in  that 
the  presence  of  the  Queen  of  Chalcis  in  Rome 
would  afford  many  complications.  In  the 
first  place  the  populace  have  the  absurd  notion 
that  there  was  some  intrigue  between  you  in 
the  past." 

"  It  is  true,"  rephed  Titus.  "  I  w^as  a  fool; 
she  sapped  my  ambition,  my  sense  of  honour 
and  duty.  That  I  was  not  irretrievably 
ruined  I  owe  to  my  father,  who  plunged  me 
into  violent  action.  But  the  mad  young 
prince  learned  one  lesson  in  the  school  of  folly 
— that  of  his  own  weakness,  and  I  thank  the 


202       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

gods  that  she  has  gone,  for  I  must  never  see 
her  again." 

"  Are  you  not  a  trifle  too  severe  with  your- 
self?" Domitian  asked.  "People  are  always 
striving  to  force  their  consciences  upon  us,  but 
I  should  think  that  you  had  done  enough  for 
Rome  to  be  allowed  to  follow  the  dictates  of 
your  own  judgment.  What  emperor  ever 
adorned  the  city  with  more  magnificent  public 
buildings  or  lavished  his  private  resources  on 
charity  as  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  Since  I  became  Emperor  at  least,"  Titus 
replied,  "  I  have  honestly  tried  to  do  my 
duty." 

"  Duty ! "  exclaimed  C^ecina,  who  had 
striven  in  vain  to  master  his  intense  feeling. 
"What,  I  ask  you,  is  the  duty  of  a  man  of 
honour  to  the  woman  who  loves  him,  and  whose 
heart  he  has  broken?  " 

"  Who  can  charge  me  with  such  a  crime? " 
Titus  demanded  sternly. 

"  Berenice,"  replied  Csecina,  "  whom  I  saw 
distracted  with  grief,  and  for  whose  death  you 
may  be  answerable." 

"  In  justice,  sir,  allow  the  Emperor  to  an- 
swer your  accusation,"  said  Licianus,  for  Titus 
had  covered  his  face.  "  Whatever  can  have 
passed  between  him  and  the  Queen  of  Chalcis  in 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       203 

the  past,  you  cannot  charge  him  with  broken 
vows.  She  must  have  known  that  Rome  for- 
bids her  rulers  to  wed  with  women  of  foreign 
blood.  Not  even  Cssar  or  Antony  in  his  most 
delirious  moments  dared  to  make  Cleopatra 
his  wife.^  Surely,  Sire,  you  did  not  marry 
her? " 

"  You  forget,"  replied  Titus,  "  that  at  that 
time  I  was  bound  by  a  loveless  marriage. 
She  knew  that  our  love  was  hopeless." 

"  Not  so,"  contradicted  Cascina.  *'  She  told 
me — and  ask  your  memory  if  she  spoke  the 
truth — that  you  promised  if  ever  you  were  a 
free  man,  you  would  prove  your  love.  And 
now  that  your  wife  is  dead,  and  she  proves 
her  devotion  by  throwing  herself  upon  your 
magnanimity,  do  you  refuse  to  protect  or  even 
to  see  her? " 

"  Listen  to  reason,"  pleaded  Licianus,  "  and 

1  Paulinus. — Rome  by  a  changeless  law 
Admits  no  foreign  blood  with  hers  to  mingle. 
Julius, — smitten  with   Cleopatra's  beauty,  feared 
To  wed  her,  and  in  Egypt  left  her  lonely 
To  mourn  his  absence.     Antony,  whose  love 
Made  her  his  idol,  in  her  lap  forgot 
Country  and  fame,  yet  dared  not  call  her  wife: 
Since  then,  my  lord,  Caligula  and  Nero, 
Who  trampled  under  foot  all  other  laws, 
Feared  this  one  only. 

Racine. 


204       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

consider  how  you  can  best  protect  her.  Not  by 
marrying  her — were  you  so  to  break  the  laws 
of  your  country,  the  very  same  populace  who 
went  mad  with  joy  when  the  long  line  of 
Jewish  captives  preceding  your  triumphal 
car  bore  the  spoils  of  their  temple  to  that  of 
Capitoline  Jove,  would  rise  in  revolution  and 
repudiate  you.  Were  you  to  keep  her  here 
as  your  mistress,  they  would  despise  you  none 
the  less,  but  the  punishment  would  fall  on 
her,  for  they  would  drag  her  from  conceal- 
ment and  tear  her  limb  from  limb." 

"  That  they  would ! "  exclaimed  Florus, 
"  and  every  one  of  us  who  tried  to  protect  you. 
By  Mars,  I  'd  rather  face  another  Jerusalem 
in  revolt  than  the  Roman  populace  when  their 
blood  is  up." 

"  Titus  is  not  a  coward,"  sneered  Domitian. 
"  If  I  were  Emperor  I  would  govern  Rome, 
and  in  my  private  life  at  least,  I  would  not  be 
of  all  men  the  most  powerless." 

"  An  emperor  has  no  private  life,"  replied 
Titus,  with  enforced  calmness.  "  He  belongs 
wholly  to  the  state." 

"  The  state  should  go  to  perdition,"  ex- 
claimed Cfecina,  "if  it  came  between  me  and 
the  woman  I  loved !  " 

Florus  leapt  forward  unsheathing  his  sword, 


COLOSSEUM    SEEN   THROUGH   THE    ARCH   OF  TITUS 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       205 

but  Titus  lifted  his  hand.  "  Csecina,"  he  said, 
*'  you  presume  upon  our  friendship,  and  it 
stands  the  test  of  frankness.  You  may  be 
right,  for  it  is  not  easy  in  the  labyrinth  of 
life  to  choose  the  path  of  duty,  but  your  desire 
to  help  me  comes  too  late.  Berenice  has  gone 
beyond  recall." 

"  She  has  not!  I  met  her  as  I  told  you, 
and  she  waits  your  decision  in  a  safe  shelter. 
I  have  promised  her  that  you  will  see  her." 

Titus  was  very  pale,  "  Then  you  promised 
what  you  had  no  right,  and  what  I  will  never 
perform " 

"Where  is  she?"  shouted  Florus;  "confess 
where  you  have  hidden  the  Idumean  witch  that 
I  may  exterminate  her." 

"  It  is  easy  to  guess  her  refuge,"  said 
Domitian,  "  we  all  know  that  Csecina  has  a 
charming  villa  at  Antium." 

"Hold,  Florus!"  Titus  commanded,  "suf- 
fer her  to  go  in  peace.  You,  Cscina,  will 
atone  for  your  impetuosity  by  carrying  out  my 
wishes.  I  shall  assume  that  her  visit  is  a  dip- 
lomatic one,  and  shall,  among  other  matters, 
request  her  to  inform  her  brother  that  I  have 
extended  the  bounds  of  Judea.  I  will  give 
him  more  than  Augustus  Cfesar  gave  to 
Herod,  and  I  will  support  his  rule  with  our 


2o6       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

army.  But  neither  he  nor  she  can  return  to 
Rome.  Wait  here  until  I  have  written  the 
letter,  and  make  sure  my  friend,  make  very 
sure,  that  this  time  she  actually  sails  for 
Asia. 

"  And  you  Florus,  lest  you  may  be  tempted 
to  spy  upon  Csecina,  and  treat  the  Queen  of 
Chalcis  with  some  discourtesy,  come  with  me 
for  a  brisk  ride.  It  will  restore  the  even  bal- 
ance of  our  minds.  ^line  has  been  shaken  as 
well  as  yours,  my  brave  Florus.  And  Lici- 
anus,  among  the  refugees  from  the  late  de- 
struction of  Pompeii,  there  came  to  me  a  young 
Greek  artist,  who  entreated  my  patronage.  I 
told  him  that  I  was  selling  my  most  cherished 
works  of  art  in  order  to  provide  for  his  fellow- 
sufferers,  and  could  only  commission  him  to 
decorate  the  Villa  Amaranthiana,  where  my 
niece  Domitilla  and  Flavins  Clemens  are  to 
pass  their  honeymoon.  I  am  curious  to  in- 
spect the  work  of  my  protege,  and  it  may 
interest  you  also.  Will  you  not  ride  with 
us?" 

Domitian  could  scarcely  credit  his  hearing. 
He  had  recognised  the  characteristic  set  of  his 
brother's  lower  jaw,  so  like  that  of  their 
father's  when  over-urged.  He  knew  that  Cse- 
cina  had  gone  too  far,  and  had  only  made 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       207 

Titus  inflexible.  No  power  under  heaven 
would  induce  his  brother  to  see  Berenice, — 
but  here  was  heaven  itself,  leading  the  victim 
into  the  very  toils  which  he  was  so  determined 
to  avoid. 

II 

WHY   THE  NAME  OF  THE  VILLA  WAS   CHANGED 

In  snch  a  hall  the  roof  of  some  strange  wood, 
Brought  over  sea,  was  dyed  as  red  as  blood. 
With  richest  webs  the  marble  walls  were  hung, 
Picturing  sweet  stories  by  the  poets  sung 
From  ancient  days,  so  that  no  walls  seemed  there. 

William  Morris. 

Berenice's  first  concern  after  her  installa- 
tion in  the  Villa  Amaranthiana  had  been 
to  explore  the  refuge  so  opportunely  af- 
forded her.  The  rooms  of  the  main  building 
were,  with  the  exception  of  the  atrium,  small 
and  unpretentious,  but  the  principal  hall  was 
constructed  of  such  costly  materials  and 
adorned  with  such  exquisite  sculptural  orna- 
ment as  to  give  the  stamp  of  distinction  to 
the  entire  palazzita. 

It  was  moreover  to  have  the  added  attrac- 
tiveness of  colour,  for  the  painter  Asklatarion, 


2o8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

whose  services  had  been  presented  to  the  Prin- 
cess by  the  Emperor,  had  been  directed  to 
decorate  its  walls  with  frescoes  in  the 
Pompeian  style. 

An  ordinary  decorator  might  have  traced 
the  slender  candelabra  and  ribboned  garlands 
which  formed  the  framework  of  the  panels, 
but  as  Berenice  watched  the  young  Greek 
swiftly  sketching  with  assured  and  unerring 
hand  the  graceful  figures  that  floated  in  the 
centre,  she  realised  that  here  was  an  artist  of 
no  common  talent. 

Gratified  by  her  praise,  Asklatarion  showed 
her  all  his  work,  much  of  which  he  was  lavish- 
ing on  the  interior  of  the  family  tomb,  a  series 
of  sepulchral  chambers  excavated  in  the  hill- 
side. Berenice  was  surprised,  both  by  the  ex- 
tent and  beauty  of  these  rooms,  whose  vaulted 
ceilings  were  frescoed  with  festoons  of  grape- 
vine, between  which  winged  creatures  with 
human  faces  (which  Asklatarion  thought 
might  represent  protecting  genii)  looked 
benevolently  down.  The  subjects  in  the  tomb 
were  an  enigma  even  to  the  artist,  for  they 
had  been  executed  from  sketches  made  by  the 
Princess,  while  in  the  villa  only  had  he  been 
allowed  a  free  hand.  One  of  the  larger 
chambers     was     evidently     a     triclinium     or 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       209 

banquet-hall,  for  on  the  wall  a  feast  was  re- 
presented, at  which  twelve  guests  assisted. 
The  host,  seated  in  the  centre,  was  raising  a 
wine-cup,  not  with  the  jovial  air  of  one  pro- 
posing a  toast,  but  with  a  dignity  which 
seemed  to  imply  that  this  was  a  libation  to 
some  god. 

In  another  chamber  a  beautiful  j^outh  was 
portrayed  carrying  a  kid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  followed  by  a  flock  of  sheep.  As  Bere- 
nice paused  admiring  this  figure,  the  painter 
explained  that  it  was  doubtless  intended  for 
Apollo  tending  the  herds  of  Admetus,  as  the 
Princess  had  desired  him  to  depict  here  his 
highest  ideal  of  spiritual  beauty. 

A  discreet  cough  was  heard,  and  Berenice 
noticed  that  they  had  been  joined  by  Ste- 
phanus,  who  elevated  his  eyebrows  in  pitying 
scorn  of  the  decorator's  ignorance.  "  It  is  the 
Good  Shepherd,"  he  M'hispered ;  "the  man  is' 
a  heathen  Greek,  and  knows  nothing  of  our 
religion." 

"  Our  religion!  "  reflected  Berenice;  "  can  it 
be  that  the  man  is  a  Jew?  "  and  dismissing  the 
artist,  she  asked  Stephanus  if  the  Princess 
Flavia  Domitilla  was  accustomed  to  entertain 
her  friends  in  her  family  sepulchre.  The  ser- 
vitor nodded  mysteriously:  "  Follow  me,"  he 
14 


210       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

said,  "  and  I  will  show  you  the  hall  of 
assembly." 

Mounting  a  broad  staircase,  they  reached  a 
large  basilica  on  a  higher  level  than  the  other 
subterraneous  galleries.  It  contained  nave 
and  aisles  with  a  fore-court,  and  its  roof  was 
lighted  by  a  fine  Imninare^  or  well  leading  to 
the  open  air. 

Stephanus  unlocked  an  iron  grating  and 
showed  a  narrow  passageway  stretching  on 
into  the  darkness.  "  This  gallery,"  he  said, 
"  leads  to  the  cemetery  of  the  Cornelii.  Its 
gate  is  upon  the  Via  Appia,  and  there  the 
faithful  enter  when  a  secret  meeting  is  called." 

"  I  knew  at  Ceesarea  a  Roman  officer  named 
Cornelius,"  said  Berenice.  "  He  was  highly 
respected,  though  it  was  known  that  he  was 
a  Christian." 

*'  He  was  formerly  our  neighbour,"  replied 
Stephanus,  "  and  his  daughter  Cornelia  was 
the  playmate  of  my  mistress  and  is  still  her 
dearest  friend.  But  when  Cornelia  was  a 
little  maid  of  ten  her  father,  who  had  not  then 
a  knowledge  of  the  truth,  compelled  her  to 
become  a  Vestal.  She  is  now  the  Abbess  of  that 
order,  and  her  old  home  is  occupied  by  re- 
latives ;  but  she  comes  often  to  the  family  tomb 
to  venerate  her  ancestors,  and  when  she  does 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       211 

so,  never  fails  to  pass  through  this  corridor  to 
find  my  mistress  as  in  the  old  days.  She  will 
rejoice  that  you  knew  her  father  in  Judea. 
Did  you  chance  to  meet  there  our  great  apostle 
Paul?" 

"  I  have  heard  him  speak,"  Berenice  replied, 
"and  so   eloquently  that  my  blood  froze  in 

my  veins." 

"  It  was  he  who  converted  my  mistress," 
said  Stephanus,  "and  Flavins  Clemens  also, 
who  is  soon  to  be  her  husband.  He  is  the 
cousin  of  the  Emperor,  and  we  hope  that 
Titus  also  may  in  time  be  enlightened,  for 
no  one  so  good  and  generous-minded  has  ever 
sat  upon  the  throne  of  the  Ceesars." 

Not  until  now  was  Berenice  certain  that  she 
fully  comprehended  the  drift  of  the  conversa- 
tion. Earlier  in  its  course  she  would  have  in- 
dignantly denied  that  she  was  a  Christian ;  but 
as  the  suspicion  gradually  dawned  upon  her 
that  the  Princess  Flavia  was  a  member  of  this 
proscribed  class,  she  realised  that  through  her 
confidence  and  that  of  her  servant,  secrets 
could  be  learned  which  might  be  of  service 
to  herself  and  she  was  craftily  silent.  It  was 
enough  for  the  present  to  know  of  this  hidden 
entrance  to  the  villa,  and  she  returned  to  the 
atrium,  where  she  found  Asklatarion  laying 


212       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

aside  his  brushes,  for  the  fading  light  had  for 
that  day  put  an  end  to  his  labours. 

"  One  moment,"  she  commanded,  as  he  took 
his  leave,  "  who  are  the  eight  beautiful  women 
whom  you  have  depicted  hovering  in  the. air 
in  the  centre  of  these  panels  ? " 

Asklatarion  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Whom 
you  will,  Lady.  The  Emperor  demanded  onty 
that  I  body  forth  heroines  of  the  Greek  poets, 
— but  alas!  having  been  instructed  in  paint- 
ing rather  than  in  letters,  I  know  not  so 
many." 

"The  Emperor!"  Berenice  exclaimed; 
"  will  he  come  here  to  view  vour  decora- 
tions?" 

"  Yes,  for  my  work  in  this  villa  is  a  com- 
mission from  him.  I  sought  his  patronage, 
but  the  building  of  the  new  palace  has  been 
stopped.  '  The  home  of  my  childhood  will 
serve  me,'  he  said  to  his  brother  in  my  hearing, 
'  while  fire,  pestilence,  and  the  convulsions  of 
nature  leave  my  subjects  shelterless.'  The 
Prince  Domitian  is  building  a  magnificent 
villa  on  Lake  Albano,  where  I  hope  to  find 
employment.  There  is  a  royal  spendthrift, 
and  we  artists,  as  well  as  harlots  and  other 
ministers  to  superfluous  joy,  must  wait  for 
recognition  until  he  comes  to  the  throne; — 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       213 

and  yet  between  the  two  men — "  he  whistled 
softly. 

"  No,"  Berenice  replied  absently,  "  we  will 
not  wait.  I  will  help  you  with  your  work  and 
Titus  shall  admire  it  so  much  that  he  will  long 
to  possess  more.  In  return  you  must  help  me 
in  precisely  the  same  way." 

"  But  in  what  way,  fair  Lady?  " 

"  To-morrow,"  Berenice  explained,  "  you 
shall  have  a  name  to  inscribe  beneath  each  of 
your  figures,  but  you  must  alter  their  faces 
so  that  each  shall  bear  a  likeness  to  my  own: 
not  a  slavish  portrait,  you  understand,  but  give 
each  at  least  one  markedly  personal  character- 
istic, while  the  other  features  remain  more 
beautiful.  Thus  the  combined  impression  of 
all  will  suggest  me,  and  me  alone,  to  any  be- 
holder who  has  ever  seen  me.  Let  this  one 
have  my  profile,  that  my  hair.  You  have 
given  some  pretty  postures  to  your  dancing 
maidens,  but  none  of  them  have  the  lines  of 
my  figure,  or  the  abandon  of  a  famous  dance 
known  exclusively  to  the  Herodian  women, 
and  in  which  my  cousin  Salome  alone  could 
rival  me." 

Enthusiasm  had  transformed  her, — a  rich 
colour  glowed  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  be- 
wildered him  with  their  depth  and  lustre.    The 


214       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

face  of  the  young  artist  was  radiant.  "  And 
will  you  really  pose  for  me?  Praxitiles  him- 
self had  never  such  a  model." 

"And  why  should  I  not  pose  for  you?  It 
will  serve  to  pass  the  time  in  this  lonely  habi- 
tation which  is  less  a  villa  than  a  tomb." 

So  the  hours  of  the  following  day  sped  by 
too  swiftly  by  far  for  the  entranced  artist. 
The  beauty  of  his  subject,  which  was  even  more 
that  of  expression  than  of  feature,  baffled  while 
it  bewitched  him.  To  her  dazzling  eyes 
alone  could  he  do  full  justice;  and  these  looked 
from  every  face,  devouring  the  beholder  with 
their  bold  fascination. 

Berenice,  to  while  the  tedium  of  posing,  told 
him  the  legend  connected  with  each  name 
which  she  commanded  him  to  inscribe  on  the 
tablet  beneath  the  figures, — Pasiphae,  Canace, 
Pheedra,  Myrrha,  Scylla,  Circe,  and  Calypso. 

"  But  these  are  all  women  of  misfortune," 
said  Asklatarion,  "  unhallowed  and  unhappy 
in  their  loves." 

"  True,"  she  rephed,  "  and  such  am  I.  Tell 
your  mistress  that  I  have  renamed  her  resi- 
dence. It  is  no  longer  the  Villa  Amaranthi- 
ana;  but  the  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love;  so  may 
my  memory  linger  here  when  I  am  gone." 

"  You    should    not    return    kindness    with 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       215 

bane,"  said  Asklatarion.  "  The  Princess 
Domitilla  and  the  Consul  Flavins  Clemens 
are  noble  souls,  they  should  be  happy." 

"  Happiness  comes  not  to  those  who  de- 
serve, but  to  those  who  snatch  it,  and  not  al- 
ways to  them.  I  am  wearied  with  posing.  It 
is  late  in  the  day.  Why  does  not  Domitian 
fulfil  his  promise  and  bring  his  brother? 
And  you,  why  are  you  going  away?" 

"  If  you  will  sit  no  longer,  I  must  finish 
the  frescoes  in  the  sepulchral  chambers." 

"  Then  I  will  watch  you  there,  for  I  am 
dying  of  loneliness." 

She  followed  him  across  the  garden,  but 
she  had  scarcely  entered  the  tomb  when  the 
clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard  upon  the  road,  and 
the  Emperor,  accompanied  by  Valerius  Lici- 
anus  and  Florus,  and  guarded  by  a  small 
escort  of  pretorians,  dismounted  at  the  gate 
of  the  villa. 

Titus  passed  with  Licianus  to  the  atrium 
which  Berenice  had  just  quitted,  but  Florus 
wandered  into  the  tomb  and  paused  at  Askla- 
tarion's  side,  thus  unconsciously  preventing 
Berenice  from  joining  the  Emperor.  The 
artist  was  painting  by  torchlight  and  Florus 
could  only  dimly  discern  that  a  female  figure 
shrunk  into  the  shadow  and  fled  through  the 


2i6       K Oman ce  of  Imperial  Rome 

long  passageway  into  the  interior  of  the 
sepulchre.  For  the  moment  he  gave  the  cir- 
cumstance no  special  thought.  The  coolness 
of  the  x^lace  was  grateful  after  the  long,  hot 
ride  and,  throwing  himself  upon  a  stone  bench, 
he  studied  the  frescoes,  striving  vainly  to  grasp 
their  meaning. 

Titus  and  Licianus  in  the  meantime  strolled 
through  the  atrium  and  examined  Asklata- 
rion's  paintings  with  ever  increasing  admira- 
tion. But  the  Emperor  was  also  weary  and, 
while  Licianus  followed  Stephanus  to  the  tri- 
clinium for  refreshment,  he  reclined  in  the 
cushioned  alcove,  which  Berenice  had  just 
quitted,  and  gave  himself  up  to  a  luxurious 
enjoyment  of  the  lovety  environment. 

The  apartment  was  unfurnished  save  for 
jars  filled  with  roses,  which  always  carried  him 
in  memory  to  the  rose-gardens  of  Casarea. 
There  was  also  a  subtle  perfume  about  the 
cushions,  heavier  than  that  of  the  roses,  and 
vaguely  familiar.  What  was  it?  Sandal- 
wood or  musk?  He  seemed  to  see  a  straight 
thin  line  of  smoke  rising  from  a  brazen  in- 
cense burner,  curling  ere  it  dissipated  into 
fanciful  convolutions.  Incense  of  the  same 
kind  burned  centuries  before  in  the  seraglio  of 
Solomon,  compounded   (who  was  it  said  so?) 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       217 

of  "  spikenard  and  saffron,  calamus  and  cassia, 
frankincense,  myrrh,  and  aloes,  and  all  chief 
spices." 

The  painting  directly  opposite  represented 
a  siren  playing  upon  a  lute,  and  Titus  re- 
memhered  the  soft  pulsing  of  lutes  and  viols 
on  the  day  when  he  came  upon  Berenice, 
(quite  by  accident  as  he  fancied),  in  her 
brother's  Ceesarean  palace.  The  lace-like 
arches  of  pierced  alabaster  of  the  garden 
kiosk  framed  her  graceful  figure  as  she 
leaned  upon  her  elbows  reading  from  a  roll 
of  parchment.  It  was  wonderful  how  each 
detail  of  that  meeting  came  back  to  him.  So 
complete  had  been  her  absorption  in  her  story 
that  she  did  not  hear  his  footstep  upon  the 
marble  pavement  until  his  shadow  fell  across 
the  page. 

Then  her  eyes  had  transfixed  him,  reading 
his  face  with  eager  delighted  recognition,  for 
they  had  known  each  other  years  before  when 
Herod  had  sent  his  children  to  be  educated  in 
Rome. 

"  So  vou  have  come  at  last,"  she  said.  "  A 
Jewess  should  not  rejoice  at  such  a  coming 
— but  if  you  knew  how  I  have  longed  for  it." 
She  held  out  her  arms  and  he,  wilfully  mis- 
understanding, took  from  her  hand  the  parch- 


2i8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


ment  roll  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  it.  The 
story  was  that  of  Canace,  the  whirlwind 
daughter  of  ^olus,  and  he  frowned.  "  Ovid 
is  not  worthy  of  you,"  he  had  said,  "  read 
rather  the  Greek  poets." 

"  Read  them  to  me,"  she  had  replied,  push- 
ing toward  him  a  basket  filled  with  rolls  which 
stood  beside  her  couch. 

After  that  he  had  loitered  long  at  Cassarea, 
though  continual  despatches  urged  his  direc- 
tion of  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  and  he  won- 
dered not  as  he  read  to  her  the  adventures 
of  the  too  susceptible  Ulysses  that  the  hero 
should  have  lingered  for  eight  years  a  willing 
prisoner  in  the  embrace  of  Calypso. 

So  they  had  lived  in  phantasy,  absorbing  the 
subtlest  form  of  love's  contagion,  sublimed 
from  passionate  human  hearts  by  the  genius 
of  the  greatest  poets.  She  told  him,  too,  the 
poisonous  Egyptian  myths  older  and  wilder 
than  the  Odyssey,  and  legends  handed  down  by 
one  Oriental  story-teller  to  another  till,  reason 
besotted  and  imagination  hypnotised,  he  be- 
came as  really  drugged  as  any  slave  of  hasheesh 
or  opium. 

The  old  heart-wound  had  completely  healed, 
as  he  imagined,  and  j^et  what  was  this  name- 
less ache  revived  by  mere  imagery  upon  the 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       219 

wall  suggestive  of  women  of  lurid  lives  and 
monstrous  loves  against  which  his  moral  sense 
revolted  ? 

Licianus  returned  and  spoke  to  him,  but  he 
did  not  answer.  He  shook  him  and  supported 
him  into  the  open  air,  but  Titus  walked  as 
one  in  a  dream.  "Are  you  ill?"  Licianus 
asked  anxiously. 

"Not  ill,  but  stifling  for  air,"  Titus  an- 
swered ;  "  let  us  walk  across  the  fields  while 
my  brain  clears."  They  strode  together  until 
they  came  to  the  luminare  which  lifted  its  curb 
of  masonry  like  a  well-head  from  the  under- 
ground basilica.  Leaning  upon  it,  they  rested 
and  talked  seriously  and  confidentially,  not 
suspecting  who  crouched  and  listened  beneath. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Titus,  "  of  the 
hard  things  which  Cascina  said,  and  that  after 
all  he  may  be  right.  Love  is  not  love  which 
defers  to  the  judgment,  and  the  hero  Ulysses, 
you  remember,  did  not  hesitate  to  go  straight 
to  hell  for  the  sake  of  Circe." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Licianus,  "  but  he  did  not 
stay  there.  Was  it  not  his  coming  back  which 
proved  him  a  hero?  " 

"That  is  a  man's  reasoning;  but  is  there 
not  something  that  more  thrills  the  heart  in 
a  woman's  sublime  disregard  of  consequences? 


220       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

r 

I 

Suppose  for  an  instant  that  Berenice  is  dis-  » 

interested,    that,    impelled    solely    by    a   love  i 

greater  than  we   men   can   conceive,   she   has 
forgotten  every  consideration  except  her  af-  | 

fection  for  me,  and  has  come  to  throw  herself 
upon  my  mercy,  would  it  not  be  the  height  of  I 

infamy  to  repulse  her? " 

"  That  is  the  vital  question,"  Licianus  re- 
plied. "Can  you  be  certain  that  such  a  woman  ^. 
realh"  loves?  There  were  scandalous  stories 
told  of  her  after  the  death  of  Herod,  which 
her  brother  strove  to  stifle  by  marrying  her  to 
the  King  of  Cilicia.  But  she  left  her  second 
husband  to  return  to  her  old  life  at  the  court 
of  Agrippa."                                            , 

"  Only  vile  tongues  repeat  vile  tales,  and 
only  vile  minds  credit  them.  Berenice  left 
Polemon  and  returned  to  Judea  for  the  same 
reason  that  she  comes  now  to  Bome — to  find 
me." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Licianus  took  up 
the  argument.  "  Suppose  that  she  does  love 
you,  what  then?  Is  there  any  kindness  in 
accepting  affection  which  you  cannot  return?  " 

"  To  answer  all  these  questions,"  Titus  re- 
plied with  emotion,  "  I  must  see  her.  1  loved 
her  once — I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  do  not  love 
her  now." 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       221 

Licianus  caught  his  hreath  in  dismay,  and 
Titus  continued  in  low  intense  tones.  "  Sup- 
pose she  does  love  me — you  ask,  What  then? 
I  answer  that  if  I  were  only  certain  of  that, 
there  would  be  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  no  hesi- 
tation in  my  conduct.  I  would  give  up  the 
Empire,  my  life,  my  soul,  for  her  sake." 

"  My  friend,  my  best  of  friends,"  Licianus 
pleaded,  and  there  was  a  note  of  anguish  in  his 
voice,"  listen  to  me  this  once  and  I  will  say  no 
more.  Love  is  not  always  happiness.  Some- 
times I  think  it  the  most  cruel  discipline  which 
the   gods   send  us.      Mine  has  been  such  to 


me. 


"  Yours !  "  exclaimed  Titus  in  surprise,  "  I 
never  knew  that  you  had  loved." 

"  I  have  loved  vainly  for  twenty  years  a 
woman  whom  I  can  never  hope  to  possess, — 
Corneha,  Abbess  of  the  Vestals." 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  Titus,  "do  you  not 
know  that  to  breathe  such  a  word  were  to 
expose  her  to  the  danger  of  a  horrible  death?  " 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  know  also  that  you  will 
believe  me  when  I  say  that  no  word  of  love 
has  passed  or  shall  ever  pass  my  lips, — that  I 
respect  her  high  office,  but  still  more  her  stain- 
less soul.  I  tell  you  this  secret  that  you  may 
know  that   others   not   so  strong  as  yourself 


222       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

have  borne  the  burden  of  hopeless  love  and 
have  found  in  it  an  ecstasy  beyond  that  of 
mere  happiness." 

A  smothered  cry  far  away  or  deep  in  the 
earth  beneath  was  heard  by  each.  It  seemed 
to  Titus  that  some  one  had  called  his  name, 
and  he  asked  wonderingly,  "  Was  that  the 
wail  of  some  evil  spirit?"  But  though  both 
men  listened  intently  there  was  no  repetition 
of  the  sound. 

"  Valerius,"  said  Titus,  "  your  story  is  un- 
like mine.  You  have  the  approval  of  your  con- 
science, but  the  furies  lash  me  continually.  I 
was  reading  in  Plato  but  yesterday  and  his 
words  have  burned  themselves  into  my  brain: 
'  There  is  a  divine  justice,  which  neither  you 
young  man  nor  any  other  will  gloiy  in  escaping. 
If  you  say,  I  am  great,  j^ou  are  not  so  great  but 
you  shall  pay  the  fitting  penalt3\  This  is  the 
fate  also  of  all  those  who  have  done  unholy 
and  evil  deeds,  and  vou  fancied  that  they  had 
become  happ3%  and  in  their  actions  seemed  to 
see  the  neglect  of  the  gods,  not  knowing  how 
they  make  all  things  work  together  and 
contribute  to  the  great  whole.'  " 

They  left  the  villa  grave  and  silent,  and  so 
preoccupied  in  their  own  reflections  that  they 
did  not  remark  the  absence  of  Florus,  who  was 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       223 

at  that  moment  engaged  in  a  somewhat  re- 
markable adventure. 

Terrified  by  his  unexpected  appearance, 
Berenice  had  fled  to  the  basilica,  hoping  to 
escape  by  the  underground  gallery  which 
Stephanus  had  exj^lained  led  to  the  villa  of  the 
Cornelii.  She  was  dismayed  to  discover  that 
the  gate  between  the  two  cemeteries  was 
locked,  and  that  Stephanus  had  carried  away 
the  key.  She  was  trapped  if  Florus  fol- 
lowed her,  but  a  few  moments  of  agonised 
listening  convinced  her  that  he  had  not  done 
so. 

Voices  floated  down  to  her  from  the  lumi- 
nare,  and  she  recognised  that  of  Titus,  speak- 
ing with  some  unknown  person.  Every  word 
was  distinctly  audible,  and  Berenice  listened 
greedily  until  at  the  declaration,  "  I  am  not  so 
sure  that  I  do  not  love  her  now,"  she  sprang  to 
her  feet  determined  to  discover  herself  to  Titus 
if  Florus  had  left  his  post.  But  before  she 
could  put  this  resolution  into  execution,  the 
gate  leading  to  the  villa  of  the  Cornelii  was 
unlocked  by  some  one  on  the  other  side,  and  a 
tall  and  beautiful  woman  in  the  white  robe 
and  mantle  of  the  Vestals  entered  the  basilica. 
She  was  about  to  question  Berenice,  but  the 
latter  pointed  upward  to  the  lu7ninare  with  a 


224       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

warning  "  Hush,"  and  at  that  moment  Lici- 
anus  made  the  avowal  of  his  love. 

Cornelia  stood  transfixed  mitil  he  had  con- 
cluded, when  she  turned  intending  to  retreat 
as  she  had  come; — but  the  shock  had  been  too 
great,  she  reeled  and  would  have  fainted 
had  not  Berenice  leapt  to  her  support,  with 
a  wild  cry  which  startled  her  back  to  con- 
sciousness. 

"  Who  are  you? "  the  Vestal  asked,  gazing 
wonderingly  at  the  stranger,  whose  demon- 
like beauty  frightened  while  it  fascinated  her. 

"  Only  an  unhappy  woman  like  yourself," 
Berenice  replied,  "  and  one  who  will  keep  your 
secret  if  you  will  aid  her  to  escape." 

"  I  have  no  secret,"  Cornelia  retorted  with 
dignity,  pausing  in  a  second  attempt  to  leave 
the  basilica,  as  Florus  rushed  tumultuously  in 
from  the  direction  of  the  Villa  Amaranthiana. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  shouted  to  the  protesting 
Asklatarion  who  followed,  "  that  this  anklet 
which  I  found  by  the  doorway  is  no  Roman 
trinket,  but  that  of  some  Oriental  woman,  and 
now  I  bethink  me,  there  was  a  woman  skulk- 
ing in  the  shadow.  Stand  aside  that  I  may 
know  whom  you  have  in  hiding." 

But  Berenice  had  glided  through  the  gate- 
way from  which  Cornelia  had  appeared,  and 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       225 

the  astonished  Florus  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  the  woman  who  above  all  others 
commanded  the  respect  of  every  Roman.  Re- 
buking him  sternly  for  intruding  in  a  temple 
commemorative  of  the  dead  and  therefore  in- 
violable, Corneha  rejoined  Berenice,  whom  she 
found  cowering  in  a  side  passage. 

"  Save  me,"  implored  the  terrified  woman, 
"  for  I  dare  not  return  to  the  Villa  Ama- 
ranthiana." 

"  ^ly  chariot  is  at  the  gate  of  our  villa," 
replied  Cornelia.  "  I  will  direct  the  charioteer 
to  take  you  where  you  will."  Without  further 
inquir}^  she  hastily  robed  Berenice  in  the 
white  mantle  of  her  order,  whose  ample  hood 
effectually  concealed  the  features  of  the 
fugitive. 

The  sif^nificance  of  the  kindlv  act  was  not 
lost  upon  Berenice.  Evidently  Cornelia  knew 
that  the  cemetery  of  the  Princess  Flavia 
Domitilla  was  often  used  as  a  place  of  refuge 
for  hunted  Christians  (one  of  whom  she  sup- 
posed Berenice  to  be),  and,  pagan  though  she 
was,  it  proved  that  the  Abbess  of  the  Vestals 
was  in  sympathy  with  her  friend's  endeavour 
to  protect  them. 

For  an  instant  Berenice  thought  of  driving 
at  once  to  the   Palatine  and  demanding   an 


15 


226       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

audience  with  the  Emperor;  but  she  was  too 
cowardly  and  too  indirect  in  her  methods  for 
such  a  stroke,  and  she  gave  the  order,  "  To 
the  villa  of  Prince  Domitian,  on  Lake 
Albano." 

It  was  a  long  drive  and  night  had  fallen 
when  she  arrived,  but  fortunately  for  her 
Domitian  was  at  his  country-seat. 

Apprehensive  as  to  what  might  occur  at  the 
Villa  Amaranthiana,  and  wishing  to  divert 
from  himself  any  suspicion  of  complicity  in 
Berenice's  presence  there,  he  had  ridden  but 
a  short  distance  from  Rome  with  his  brother, 
and  had  then  announced  his  intention  of  re- 
tiring to  his  villa  for  a  few  days,  to  make 
arrangements  for  a  festival  with  which  he 
intended  to  celebrate  the  birthday  of  Titus. 

The  Emperor  appeared  gratified  by  the 
compliment,  and  recommended  to  his  brother's 
patronage  a  troop  of  female  gladiators  from 
Dalmatia,  who  desired  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
hibiting their  skill  as  retiarise. 

"  Strive,"  he  added,  "  so  to  order  the  per- 
formance that  they  shall  run  no  great  danger. 
They  are  comely  creatures  and  I  would  not 
willingly  see  any  one  of  them  die." 

Titus  was  in  fact  well  pleased  that  Domitian 
was  interesting  himself  in  athletic  sports,  for 


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The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       227 

the  late  Emperor  Vespasian,  who  distrusted 
his  younger  son,  had  inexorably  shut  him  out 
from  any  share  in  governing,  but  had  allowed 
him  free  scope  in  building.  "  It  will  keep  him 
out  of  mischief,"  he  had  said  to  Titus,  who  in 
turn  had  followed  his  father's  policy. 

Domitian  had  thus  become  as  great  a  con- 
noisseur in  the  arts  as  Nero,  whom  he  re- 
sembled in  many  characteristics.  At  his  Al- 
ban  villa  he  had  built  an  amphitheatre  and 
stadium,  in  which  he  rivalled  the  gladiatorial 
contests  of  the  Colosseum.  But  these  amuse- 
ments were  simply  mischief  of  another  sort  from 
the  political  intrigue  which  his  father  feared, 
and  the  deviltries  of  Domitian's  "  Albanum  " 
have  rarely  been  surpassed  in  history.  Women 
of  every  class  had  been  its  guests,  but  as  so 
frequently  happens,  Domitian  longed  for  the 
unattainable,  and  had  set  his  heart  on  pos- 
sessing the  purest  woman  in  all  Rome,  the 
beautiful  Cornelia.  He  had  been  repulsed 
more  than  once,  but  when  informed  that  the 
Abbess  of  the  Vestals  desired  to  see  him  he 
believed  that  he  had  attained  his  ambition,  and 
great  was  his  disgust  when  he  removed  the 
cloak  of  his  visitor  and  recognised  Berenice. 

His  disappointment  showed  itself  for  an  in- 
stant in  his   face,   and  from  that  malignant 


228       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


i 


look  Berenice  first  realised  that  Domitian's 
kindness  to  her  was  not  caused  by  any  per- 
sonal attraction,  but  by  some  motive  which  she  I 
had  not  as  yet  divined.  None  the  less  she  felt  | 
that  for  some  mysterious  reason  he  was  in 
earnest  in  his  professed  desire  to  aid  her  to 
become  his  brother's  wife. 

He  listened  with  the  keenest  interest  to  her 
account  of  what  had  transpired  during  the 
visit  of  Titus  to  the  Villa  Amaranthiana,  and 
shook  both  her  hands  in  genuine  delight  when 
she  repeated  the  Emperor's  confession  of  his 
love. 

"  He  must  see  you  while  this  mood  lasts!  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  can  arrange  it,  for  he  has 
promised  to  come  to  the  fete  which  I  shall 
give  in  my  new  stadium.  I  am  to  have  the 
Greek  painter.  I  will  write  him  to  bring 
your  belongings.  I  will  send  also  to  Antium 
for  whatever  you  require.  Call  on  me  besides 
for  anything  you  wish,  for  you  must  dress  for 
this  spectacle  as  you  never  dressed  before." 

Again  he  questioned  her  more  closely,  mak- 
ing her  repeat  everj^  word  of  the  conversation 
which  she  had  overheard,  and  at  the  avowal 
made  by  Licianus  of  his  affection  for  Cornelia, 
his  face  became  fiendish  in  its  crafty  cruelty. 
"  He  shall  die  for  that,"  he  muttered,  "  but 


o 


o 

a. 
O 

I- 

> 

tr. 
o 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       229 

not  now, — I  will  use  him  first,  until  she  is  in 
my  power.  So  she  goes  by  underground  ways 
to  meet  him,  and  Florus  saw  her.  He  shall 
be  my  witness  unless  she  pays  my  price.  You 
have  done  more  for  me  than  you  realise,  and 
I  foresee  victory  for  us  both." 

Ill 

IN  THE  TOILS 

As  fishes  that  are  taken  in  an  evil  net,  and  as 
birds  that  are  canght  in  the  snare:  so  are  the  sons 
of  men  snared  in  an  evil  time  when  it  falletli 
suddenly  upon  them. 

And  I  find  more  bitter  than  death  the  woman 
whose  heart  is  snares  and  nets  and  her  hands  bands: 
whoso  pleaseth  God  shall  escape  from  her. 

Ecclesiastes  ix.,  12,  and  vii.,  26. 

Rome  had  been  sated  with  gladiatorial  shows 
in  the  newly  completed  Flavian  amphitheatre. 
The  Colosseum  had  been  planned  and  par- 
tially constructed  by  Vespasian,  Titus  had  no 
choice  but  to  finish  his  father's  enterprise, 
and  once  completed  to  give  the  Roman 
populace  the  games  in  which  they  delighted. 
But  even  during  the  festivities  which  cele- 
brated his   accession,  he  had  wearied   of  the 


230       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

slaughter,  and  for  the  fete  with  which  Domi- 
tian  now  celebrated  his  birthday  novelties  had 
been  prepared  which  it  was  hoped  would  sur- 
prise the  most  blase  habitue  of  the  amphi- 
theatre and  the  circus. 

Flavins  Clemens,  the  cousin  of  Titus  and 
Domitian,  was  master  of  ceremonies,  for  the 
law  ordained  that  the  Consul  should  conduct 
all  entertainments  given  in  honour  of  the 
Emperor.  But  Clemens  was  noted  for  his 
aversion  to  gladiatorial  sports,  and  Domitian 
had  aj)pointed  Florus  his  assistant. 

To  grace  the  occasion  Florus  had  draped 
his  burly  person  conspicuously  in  a  toga 
gorgeous  with  embroidery  of  Damascus,  in 
which  he  pompously  strutted  about  the  sta- 
dium, conversing  familiarly  with  the  perform- 
ers and  explaining  the  technicalities  of  the 
contests  to  his  colleague. 

In  marked  contrast  to  this  swaggering  bully 
was  the  man  with  whom  he  chanced  to  be  asso- 
ciated. Clemens's  well-developed  head  indi- 
cated mental  power,  but  the  jaw  and  throat 
were  not  as  heavy  as  those  of  the  other  Flavians 
and  his  face,  though  not  severe,  was  deeply  seri- 
ous, even  melancholy.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
scholar  and  a  thinker,  and  to  please  the  literary 
taste  of  Titus,  he  had  suggested  that  the  en- 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       231 

tertainment  should  be  dramatic  rather  than 
athletic.  Domitian  had  so  far  approved  of 
the  idea  as  to  have  personally  adapted  a  few 
selection  from  Greek  authors,  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  lead  up  to  the  contests,  which 
had  been  planned  to  take  place  not  on  the 
stage  of  a  theatre  but  in  the  stadium  of  his 
villa. 

A  magnificent  alcove,  flanked  bj^  Corinthian 
columns,  framed  a  statue  of  Augustus  and 
formed  a  dignified  architectural  background 
for  the  imperial  family  and  a  few  privi- 
leged spectators. 

The  Emperor  occupied  the  centre  of  this 
group.  At  his  right  the  frivolous  Domitia, 
the  wife  of  Domitian,  lolled  and  yawned ;  next 
to  her  was  seated  the  stately  dowager  Em- 
press Domitilla,  the  mother  of  Titus,  and 
nestling  close,  her  shrinking  namesake,  the 
Princess  Flavia  Domitilla,  hid  her  face  behind 
her  grandmother's  shoulder.  The  principal 
Vestals  and  some  intimate  friends  were  the 
only  other  guests,  and  the  programme  pre- 
sented was  worthy  of  the  distinguished 
audience. 

Feats  of  strength  and  skill  followed  each 
other  in  dazzling  succession.  Wrestlers  from 
Gaul,    archers    from    Britain,    runners    from 


232       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Thrace,  singers  from  southern  Greece,  dancers 
and  magicians  from  Egypt,  the  finest  swords- 
men in  the  Roman  army,  vied  with  each  other 
for  the  plaudits  of  the  spectators;  every  artist 
was  a  star  in  his  profession,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  Domitian  must  have  exhausted  all  that  the 
world  had  to  offer  and  the  capacity  of  his 
guests  for  enjoyment  before  the  rendition  of 
the  concluding  feature. 

Expectation  had,  however,  been  kept  alive 
by  the  rumour  that  in  this  act  some  novelty  of 
a  startling  character  would  be  presented.  It 
was  announced  as  "  The  Combat  of  Alexander 
the  Great  with  Myrrha,  Queen  of  the  Ama- 
zons." The  title  was  in  itself  an  appetising 
one,  for  this  fabled  nation  of  female  warriors 
had  always  exercised  a  supreme  fascination 
over  the  Roman  imagination.  They  were  be- 
lieved to  be  haters  of  mankind,  whom  they 
excluded  from  their  country,  in  Asia  JNIinor, 
whence  they  made  incursions  upon  the  Greeks, 
taking  prisoners  who  became  their  husbands 
of  a  night,  and  were  then  pitilessly  slain,  as 
were  their  male  children. 

But  there  was  a  legend  that  their  Queen, 
hearing  of  the  exploits  of  Alexander,  had 
fallen  in  love  with  the  hero  of  her  imagination 
and  had  challenged  him  to  fight  with  her  in 


GEROME   WITH    STATUE   OF  A   MIRMILLO  AND   RETIARIUS 
A  study  for  his  "Pollice  Verso  " 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       233 

presence  of  their  respective  armies, — the  con- 
quered to  remain  the  slave  of  the  victorious 
champion. 

To  the  female  athletes  recommended  to 
Domitian  by  Titus  were  assigned  the  part  of 
the  Amazons,  and  Florus,  before  whom  they 
had  rehearsed  the  exercise  of  the  net  and  tri- 
dent, was  satisfied  with  their  skill.  But  Do- 
mitian had  not  invited  either  Florus  or  Clemens 
to  a  rehearsal  of  the  performance,  and  the 
nominal  directors  of  the  programme  were 
destined  to  a  distinct  surprise. 

Domitia,  who  had  until  now  affected  the 
utmost  indifference  as  to  the  spectacle,  sud- 
denly uttered  a  low  cry  and  watched  the  final 
duel  with  intense  interest,  for  she  had  recog- 
nised her  husband  in  the  mysterious  gladiator 
personating  Alexander,  who  now  advanced  to 
attack  the  beautiful  Amazon.  Incontestably 
beautiful  even  Domitia  conceded  her  to  be,  as, 
bared  to  the  waist,  she  flung  her  net  in  grace- 
ful circles  over  the  head  of  the  alert  gladiator, 
who  dodged  it  adroitly,  rushing  forward  after 
each  cast  only  to  lunge  savagely  at  empty  air, 
as  the  agile  woman  eluded  his  thrusts. 

So  the  manoeuvres  continued;  the  net  hover- 
ing continually  like  some  winged  bird  of  prey 
above  its  victim,  the  retiaria  circling  swiftly, 


234       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

advancing,    retreating,    as    in    some    sinister 
dance,  and  singing  tauntingly: 

"  I  am  fishing,  little  brother, 
But  I  'm  wishing  for  another. 
Though  I  snare  you  in  my  net 
Not  on  you  my  heart  is  set. 
You  may  flee  me  if  you  wish 
For  I  seek  a  nobler  fish ! "  ^ 


Domitian,  apparently  wearied  by  the  weight 
of  his  ponderous  cuirass  and  helmet  and  the 
long-continued  play,  was  evidently  on  the  de- 
fensive. His  attacks  were  less  frequent,  and 
he  backed  by  degrees  nearer  to  the  imperial 
party,  while  his  antagonist,  as  fresh  as  at  the 
beginning,  her  eyes  sparkling  and  cheeks 
glowing  with  the  violent  exercise,  tempted 
him  to  useless  effort  by  hazardous  feints  from 
which  she  sprang  aside  to  fling  the  net  at 
shorter  distance  and  with  more  assured  aim. 

Suddenly  the  Princess  Flavia  Domitilla 
uttered  a  stifled  shriek  as  the  net  descended 
accurately,  so  entangling  the  gladiator  that, 
stumbling  forward,  he  fell  helpless  at  the  feet 
of  his  antagonist. 

1  A  free  translation  of  the  song  of  the  retiarius — "  Non 
te  peto  piscem  peto,  Quid  me  fugis,  non  te  peto." 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       235 

The  victorious  Amazon,  her  foot  upon  the 
prostrate  form,  poised  her  trident  above  her 
victim's  throat,  waiting  the  permission  of  the 
audience  to  drive  it  home. 

But  Titus  lifted  his  hand  in  repetition  of 
the  gesture  given  by  the  sculptor  to  the  statue 
of  Augustus,  beneath  which  he  stood,  and  the 
merciful  signal  of  the  upturned  thumb  was 
imitated  by  the  Vestals  and  by  the  other  guests. 

Domitian  rose,  recognised  jiqw  by  all,  for 
he  was  unhelmeted,  and  taking  the  Queen  of 
the  Amazons  by  the  hand,  bowed  deeply  to 
the  applauding  spectators.  Florus  only  re- 
fused to  join  in  the  plaudits.  "  A  fake  per- 
formance," he  grumbled.  "  Domitian  could 
easily  have  killed  her  had  he  chosen  so  to  do, 
this  was  no  honest  fight;  but  clever  acting  to 
a  prearranged  conclusion." 

"  Since  the  acting  was  clever,"  said  Flavins 
Clemens,  "  why  do  you  withhold  the  meed  of 
applause? " 

Florus  did  not  reply.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
in  a  fascinated  stare  upon  the  face  of  the 
Amazonian  Queen,  whose  identity  he  had  not 
until  now  suspected.  Berenice  had  thrown 
aside  the  heavy  leggings  and  cestus,  and  ex- 
changing her  net  for  a  spangled  gauze  scarf, 
handed  her  by  an  attendant,  was  now  executing 


236       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  marvellous  Herodian  dance,  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  Oriental  music.  Nothing  ap- 
proaching it  in  seductiveness  had  ever  been 
seen  by  her  audience; — now,  while  the  Egyp- 
tian derrabukehs  throbbed  and  boomed,  she 
crouched  panther-like,  waiting  for  the  clash 
of  the  cymbals  to  bound  like  a  Bacchante 
in  wild  leaps,  or  for  the  delicious  swell  of 
the  viols  to  whirl  in  dizzying  circles  which 
the  eye  could  scarcely  follow,  again,  to  the 
drowsy,  monotonous  drone  of  the  nebel- 
citherns  she  slowly  swayed  in  lascivious  pos- 
tures, bending  far  backward  upborne  as  by 
some  invisible  surge,  or  skimming  the  air  like  \ 

a  swiftly  darting  dragon-fly;  but  advancing  ^ 

or  retreating  her  focal-point  through  these 
varying  evolutions  was  always  the  Emperor,  j 

whose    eyes    were    wide-open    doors    through  5 

which  his  soul  went  out  to  meet  her.  ^ 

At  last,  dancing  slowly  backward,  but  with  ^ 

arms  extended  longingly  toward  him,  she 
made  her  exit  through  the  colonnade,  whose  ,' 

ordered  columns,  like  the  trees  in  some  wood-  i 

land  avenue,  alternatelv  hid  and  disclosed  her  \ 

vanishing  figure.  . 

Before  she  had  quite  disappeared  and  while  | 

the  tumultuous  music  still  surged  in  the  ears  f 

and  modulated  the  heart-throbs  of  the  listen-  J 

* 
4 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       22)^] 

ers,  Titus,  as  though  compelled  by  some  will 
beyond  his  power  to  resist,  rose  and  followed 
her  with  the  mien  of  one  walking  in  his  sleep. 

Not  until  the  door  had  closed  behind  the 
two  did  the  spectators  recover  from  the  spell 
to  which  they  also  had  yielded,  and  a  universal 
murmur  of  eager  comment  and  question  filled 
the  air.  Xo  one  was  more  excited  than  Florus, 
who  threw  himself  upon  Domitian  like  a  pro- 
jectile, and  demanded  how  and  why  Berenice 
had  been  introduced  into  his  villa. 

Domitian  shrugged  his  shoulders,  "  As  to 
the  why  3^ou  must  judge  for  yourself,  my 
friend, — and  the  how  you  already  know,  for 
you  were  with  us  when  Titus  asked  me  to  give 
the  retiarias  a  place  upon  the  programme." 

Florus's  jaw  fell  and  he  started  in  conster- 
nation. "  Do  you  mean,"  he  stammered, 
"  that  Titus  was  playing  us  false,  when  he  sent 
Ceecina  to  Antium  to  despatch  her  to  Asia?  " 

"  Exactly.  Berenice  has  not  been  at  An- 
tium, as  Cfficina  and  Titus  well  knew\  That 
was  a  little  subterfuge  to  deceive  us.  She  has 
been  concealed  all  the  while  at  a  villa  near 
Rome,  where  Titus  has  visited  her  under  our 
very  noses." 

"  It  is  true,  it  is  true,"  Florus  groaned. 
"Oh,    fool    that    I    have    been!     The    Villa 


238       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Amaranthiana.  I  suspected  it  while  I  was 
there,  and  Titus  was  making  love  to  her  some- 
where in  that  labyrinth  while  I,  like  an  ass, 
was  standing  on  guard  to  keep  him  from  inter- 
ruption. But  if  that  is  true,  Licianus  is  also 
^  his  accomplice,  and  the  Abbess  of  the  Vestals 
as  well,  and  the  Princess  Flavia  Domitilla!  " 

"  We  know  not  how  wide-spread  the  plot 
may  be,"  Domitian  replied,  affecting  deep 
concern. 

"What  plot?"  Florus  inquired  anxiously. 
"  Surely  this  is  nothing  more  than  a  passing 
fancy,  a  temporary  liaison." 

"  You  do  not  know  the  Queen  of  Chalcis," 
the  other  replied.  "  It  was  for  no  liaison  that 
she  deserted  the  King  of  Cilicia.  She  has 
staked  all  for  the  imperial  diadem." 

Flavins  Clemens,  who  was  passing,  caught 
the  last  words  and  paused.  "  Yes,  come  and 
give  us  your  advice,"  Florus  cried,  not  heed- 
ing the  warning  pressure  of  Domitian's  hand 
upon  his  arm.  "  Here  is  a  pretty  tangle,  and 
you  may  be  able  to  influence  your  cousin,  which 
is  more  than  we  can  do,  though  Domitian  and 
Valerius  Licianus  and  I  argued  with  him  for 
an  hour  and  he  feigned  to  be  convinced." 

"  To  whom  do  you  refer? "  asked  Clemens; 
"  surely  not  to  the  Emperor?  " 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       239 

"Yes,  the  Emperor,"  Domitian  repHed;  "he 
has  gone  raving  mad,  for  surely  were  he  in  his 
senses,  he  would  not  insult  his  family  by  in- 
troducing so  vile  a  creature  to  them,  and 
ostentatiously  displaying  his  infatuation  for 
her  in  this  public  manner.  There  is  but  one 
step  more  that  he  can  take,  and  that  is  to  marry 
her  and  crown  her  in  the  eyes  of  all  Rome." 

"That  were  insanity,  indeed!"  exclaimed 
Clemens.  "  ]May  our  country  be  preserved 
from  such  a  disaster!  " 

"  I  will  save  the  nation  and  him  also,"  cried 
Florus.  "  I  have  sworn  to  kill  her,  and  I  will 
do  it  before  the  dawning  of  another  day." 

"  No,  Florus,"  commanded  Domitian,  "  no 
violence.  There  is  still  law  in  Rome,  and  if 
Clemens  means  what  he  says,  if  affection  for 
my  poor  demented  brother  has  not  blinded 
him,  it  is  in  his  power  to  restrain  him  from 
this  atrocious  act." 

"  I  will  plead  with  him  at  once  as  Florus 
wishes,"  Clemens  volunteered  eagerly. 

"  You  will  only  anger  him,  and  confirm  him 
the  more  obstinately  in  the  carrying  out  of 
his  own  desires.  As  Florus  informed  you,  we 
have  already  exhausted  persuasion  and  argu- 
ment. There  remains  only  force."  Clemens 
gave  Domitian  a  swift,  keen  look  of  inquiry 


240       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

and  Florus  uttered  a  low  whistle  of  surprise. 
"  Yes,"  reiterated  Domitian,  "  Titus  must  be 
made  to  understand  that  the  Emperor  himself 
cannot  break  Rome's  laws  with  impunity.  It 
is  your  duty  as  Consul  to  lay  this  matter  before 
the  Senate." 

"  I  shall  resort  to  such  an  extreme  measure," 
replied  Clemens,  "  only  when  I  am  convinced 
that  there  is  need  for  it." 

Domitian  smiled  malevolently.  "  I  hesi- 
tated to  speak  to  you  of  this,"  he  said,  "  but 
it  is  as  well  to  know  how  j^ou  stand.  If  you, 
as  well  as  the  Princess  Flavia,  have  been 
bribed  by  Berenice,  the  remainder  of  the 
family  have  but  little  hope." 

Clemens's  eyes  grew  dark  with  anger. 
"  You  have  charged  my  betrothed  with  an 
accusation  which  I  cannot  pass  over  without 
proof  or  retraction." 

"  Ask  Florus,  here,  if  my  niece  is  not  enter- 
taining the  Queen  of  Chalcis  as  her  guest,  and 
has  not  arranged  assignations  with  the  Em- 
peror for  her  at  the  Villa  Amaranthiana." 

"  You  lie,  Domitian,  or  are  strangely  de- 
ceived." 

"He  speaks  the  truth!"  exclaimed  Florus. 
"  They  hide  her  in  the  cryptoporticus  of  the 
villa.     I  myself  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  there, 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       241 

but  I  could  not  credit  my  eyes,  and  when  I 
gave  chase,  I  heard  the  Emperor's  voice,  but 
she  escaped  me  in  the  labyrinthine  passages 
while  I  was  held  in  converse  by  Cornelia. 
Oh!  they  are  both  in  league  with  Titus.  I 
see  it  all  now.  I  wondered  that  the  Princess 
Flavia  should  have  caused  such  extensive  sepul- 
chral chambers  to  be  excavated,  and  that 
the  Emperor  should  have  had  them  decorated 
as  though  they  were  the  palace  of  some  queen 
of  the  under  world.  That  is  precisely  what 
they  are!  I  shall  explore  them  thoroughly, 
and  I  doubt  not  that  I  shall  discover  a  secret 
exit  through  the  cemetery  of  the  Cornelii. 
The  Emperor  has  evidently  had  this  in  mind 
for  some  time.  Ask  the  servants  of  the  villa, 
ask  the  Princess  Flavia  herself  for  what  pur- 
j^ose  that  cunningly  constructed  hiding-place 
was  prepared  if  not  as  a  retreat  for  her 
uncle's  mistress." 

Flavins  Clemens  was  white  as  death.  "  I 
will  ask  Domitilla,"  he  said,  "  and  if  Titus 
cannot  be  persuaded  to  give  up  the  Queen  of 
Chalcis,  I  will  convene  the  Senate." 

Domitian  bent  double  with  repressed 
laughter  as  Clemens  joined  his  affianced.  "  I 
have  him,"  he  chuckled  inwardly,  "  I  have  him 
through  Flavia  Domitilla.     I  have  long  sus- 


16 


242       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

pected  that  she  is  a  Christian,  and  unless  they 
aid  me  in  mv  scheme,  I  will  send  them  both 
to  the  lions." 

The  company  waited  long  for  Titus  ere  he 
rejoined  them  and  led  the  procession  to  the 
banqueting-hall.  Berenice  did  not  appear 
again,  and,  as  the  greater  number  of  the  guests 
had  no  suspicion  as  to  her  identity,  her  ab- 
sence was  not  remarked. 

Flavia  Domitilla  had  excused  herself  from 
the  feast  on  the  plea  of  weariness,  but  as  soon 
as  the  revellers  were  at  table,  she  hastened  to 
the  baths  provided  for  the  ladies  of  the  villa, 
where  she  was  told  the  retiarige  were  enjoying 
the  greatest  luxury  which  can  follow  violent 
exercise. 

Berenice  was  already  robed  and  reclining  in 
delicious  languor  in  the  tepidarium,  and  Do- 
mitilla paused  in  surprise  at  the  transforma- 
tion which  had  taken  place  in  the  sad-hearted 
woman  who  had  so  lately  sought  refuge  at 
her  villa. 

The  burden  of  years  had  been  lifted,  gone 
with  that  of  terror,  and  triumph  was  blended 
with  the  complacency  with  which  she  regarded 
herself  in  a  small  hand-mirror. 

But  at  the  entrance  of  Domitilla,  she  tossed 
the  glass  aside,  and,  throwing  her  arm  caress- 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       243 

ingly  about  the  Princess,  led  her  to  her  own 
apartment. 

"  It  is  sweet  of  vou,  little  hostess,  to  be  the 
first  to  congratulate  me,"  she  said.  "  Did 
Titus  tell  you,  or  did  you  guess?  I  shall  not 
forget,  too,  that  you  w^ere  good  to  me  before 
my  good  fortune  came." 

"  I  was  indeed  drawn  to  vou  before  I  knew 
you,"  Domitilla  replied.  "  I  cannot  help  ad- 
miring you  and  believing  in  you  even  now; — 
but,  oh,  beautiful  Queen,  I  do  not  come  in 
congratulation,  but  in  warning.  This  is  not 
good  fortune  either  for  you  or  for  my  Uncle 
Titus  which  brings  you  together  now.  You 
are  in  greater  danger  than  ever,  and  are  bring- 
ing a  terrible  danger  to  him.  Oh!  have  pity 
on  him,  on  us,  and  on  yourself,  for  you  are 
the  only  one  who  can  save  us  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean? "  Berenice  asked 
coldly,  and  Domitilla  unfolded  Domitian's 
plot  with  the  convincing  exactitude  with  which 
Clemens  had  just  explained  it  to  her.  Bere- 
nice listened  with  ever-increasing  indignation. 

"  So!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  Domitian  has  made 
Florus  believe  that  Titus  has  tricked  him,  and 
Florus  will  lead  the  Roman  populace  in  a 
revolt,  in  which  the  Emperor  and  I  will  be 
slain." 


244       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"But  first,"  Domitilla  explained,  "  he  counts 
on  the  Senate's  deposing  Titus,  and  proclaim- 
ing Domitian  Emperor." 

"  Titus  is  not  the  fool  his  brother  thinks," 
Berenice  replied  triumphantly.  "  He  has 
foreseen  both  dangers  and  forestalled  them. 
As  he  made  clear  to  me,  the  Emperor  cannot 
marry  me,  but  there  is  no  obligation  put  upon 
him  to  remain  Emperor.  Titus,  the  simple 
citizen,  could  wed  with  whom  he  pleased.  He 
loves  me  so  utterly  that  he  has  determined  to 
abdicate  in  favour  of  Domitian  and  return 
with  me  to  Chalcis." 

Domitilla  fell  upon  her  knees  in  anguish. 
"  Have  pity  sweet  lady  on  us  all,  leave  us 
not  to  the  mercy  of  Domitian,"  she  entreated. 
"  If  you  had  any  idea  of  what  Titus  has  done: 
how  he  has  saved  the  finances  of  the  country 
wrecked  by  Xero,  how  he  has  punished  evil- 
doers, established  order,  toleration  for  all  re- 
ligions, and  protection  for  all  distressed,  how 
the  people  worship  him  and  the  young  look 
up  to  him  as  an  example!  Think,  think  what 
it  would  mean  if  Domitian  should  undo  all 
this,  and  have  pity  on  Rome." 

Berenice  laughed.  "  And  shall  I  have  no 
pity  on  myself?"  she  asked.  "You  seem  to 
have    forgotten    me    completely.     Is    it    not 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       245 

enough  that  I  have  rehnquished  the  ambition 
of  becoming  empress,  that  I  retire  from  Rome, 
thus  averting  civil  war?  Have  I  not  proved 
that  I  love  Titus  the  man,  not  Titus  the  Em- 
peror, and  that  he  loves  me?  Do  you  know 
how  he  loves  me  ?  Not  in  the  vile  fashion  that 
Domitian  thinks.  All  the  lustful  phrensy  of 
youth  has  gone  for  us  both,  quenched  with  our 
dead  past;  but  in  his  heart  there  remains  for 
me  a  remorseful  pity  which  is  more  than  hu- 
man, it  is  divine.  Listen  to  what  he  said  to 
me  when  he  followed  me  from  the  stadium, 
and  looked  into  my  eyes: 

"  '  Berenice,  how  you  have  changed.  You 
must  have  suffered  inexpressibly,  it  is  all  writ- 
ten in  your  bitter,  world-aged  face.  Oh,  my 
poor  Berenice,  how  I  pity  you.  Do  not  think 
that  I  also  have  not  suffered.  We  have 
^vronged  each  other  cruelly.  Would  that  we 
had  never  met,  for  nought  remains  but  to  for- 
give each  other  and  part,  and  forget.' 

"  I  told  him  that  I  had  nothing  to  forgive, 
and  that  not  for  any  peace  or  bliss  would  I 
forget,  and  looking  at  me  in  astonishment,  he 
said,  '  If  I  could  believe,  could  only  believe 
that  the  love  which  it  seems  to  me  I  read 
through  your  tears  is  unfeigned,  then  I  would 
count  it  the  one  thing  worth  the  having  in  all 


246       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

my  life.'  That  is  what  he  said,  Domitilla,  and 
in  some  way,  I  know  not  how,  I  convinced  him 
as  I  wish  I  could  convince  you, — for  it  is  true." 

Domitilla  embraced  her  tenderly.  "  I  am 
convinced,  Berenice,  that  above  all  other  things 
you  love  his  love,  but  are  you  sure  that  you 
love  him? " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  other  asked. 
*'  Is  it  not  the  same  thing? " 

"  Forgive  me,  no, — it  gives  you  rapture  to 
know  that  he  is  willing  to  sacrifice  his  career 
and  the  happiness  of  thousands  of  his  subjects 
for  you.  It  is  exquisite  delight  to  you  to  be 
loved  by  him,  to  see  the  affection  in  his  eyes, 
to  know  that  his  perfect  faith  in  you  is  proof 
against  all  slander,  that  he  is  willing  to  brave 
death  and  undeserved  infamy  for  you,  and  still 
count  himself  supremely  happy;  but  do 
you  love  him  well  enough  to  sacrifice  this 
satisfaction  for  his  best  good,  that  he  may  com- 
plete this  great  work  which  he  has  begun,  and 
live  in  history  as  the  noblest  Emperor  that 
Rome  has  ever  known?  Think  how  he  would 
reverence  vou  in  after  years  for  this." 

"  No,"  Berenice  replied,  "  I  do  not  so  love 
him.  I  also  love  myself  a  little,  and  I  will 
not  give  him  up.  Besides  it  would  be  impos- 
sible; if  I  attempted  to  show  such  self -sac- 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       247 

rifice,  he  would  never  permit  it,  he  would  only 
love  me  all  the  more.  He  believes  in  me;  no 
one  can  shake  his  faith,  as  you  have  said,  and 
so  long  as  he  believes  in  me,  there  is  no  power 
on  earth  or  in  heaven  which  can  compel  him 
to  let  me  go." 

Domitilla  turned  sadly.  "  I  understand," 
she  said,  "  for  I  also  love, — but  I  was  not 
thinking  of  myself  alone,  or  of  Clemens,  but 
of  the  thousands  of  other  loving  hearts  that 
must  break  when  Domitian  orders  the  Chris- 
tians to  the  lions." 

Berenice  caught  her  hand.  "  Flee  with  us, 
both  you  and  Clemens.  Why  should  you  stay 
to  be  butchered  like  those  sheep?  " 

"  Because  they  are  His  sheep,  and  Clemens 
is  their  caretaker.  He  received  the  command 
from  Peter,  even  as  Peter  from  the  ^Master. 
It  is  a  sacred  trust  and  we  who  stand  near  the 
throne  may  avert  or  at  least  alleviate  danger. 
Farewell,  Berenice,  forgive  me  that  I  have 
asked  too  much." 

And  all  that  night  long,  after  the  lights  were 
extinguished  in  the  great  villa,  and  the  guests 
and  even  the  host  slept,  Berenice  tossed  rest- 
lessly, repeating  the  words,  "  She  asks  too 
much.  What  does  she  know  of  love?  And 
she  dares  to  say  that  I  love  only  myself.     I 


248       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

love  him,  liim  only;  but  she  asks  too 
much." 

Another  passion  as  intense  as  her  love 
for  Titus,  Berenice's  hate  for  Domitian, 
throbbed  in  her  pulses  and  burned  in  her 
brain,  and  the  fierce  determination  to  foil  him 
at  any  cost  became  an  obsession.  "  When 
Titus  abdicates  and  leaves  Rome,  Domitian 
will  be  Emperor;  but  if  Domitian  should  sud- 
denly die,  who  then?"  and  she  laughed  in 
triumph  as  the  answer  came  to  her,  "Why 
Flavins  Clemens! — Clemens  who  so  well  de- 
serves his  name, — 'the  merciful,' — and  Do- 
mitilla,  who  has  never  once  thought  of  this 
possibility,  would  be  Empress."  At  that 
thought  her  own  love  and  Domitian's  mur- 
der took  upon  themselves  the  aspect  of  a  bene- 
faction to  Rome;  but  almost  instantly  she 
realised  that  the  gentle  Clemens  had  not  the 
force  of  character  necessary  for  governing  ah 
Empire.  Rome  required  a  master,  the  very 
master  whose  wise  and  powerful  hand  now  held 
the  sceptre,  and  he  must  not  lay  it  down. 

She  robed  herself  with  more  than  her  usual 
care  but  mechanically,  every  faculty  of  her 
mind  absorbed  by  the  difficult  problems  before 
her.  The  sun  was  rising,  as  she  drew  her  cur- 
tains, but  early  as  it  was,  Titus  was  mounting 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       249 

his  horse  in  the  courtyard  helow,  and  he  waved 
his  hand  to  her  with  a  smile,  as  he  rode  away 
toward  Rome.  Domitian,  hidden  in  the  em- 
brasure of  his  window,  watched  him  depart, 
wondering  what  decision  was  betokened  by  the 
stern  determination  apparent  in  his  every 
movement.  Later  in  the  morning,  but  as  soon 
as  Domitian  could  arrange  to  do  so,  he  hast- 
ened to  Berenice,  curious  to  learn  the  result  of 
her  interview  with  his  brother. 

"  I  have  won,  and  I  have  not  won,"  she  re- 
phed,  in  response  to  his  eager  questioning. 

"  Explain  your  enigma,"  he  commanded 
impatiently.    ^"  What  did  Titus  say?" 

"  That  iie  loved  me  madly — more  than  his 
duty,  his  Empire,  or  his  life." 

"  Good;  then  he  will  marry  you? " 

"  He  begged  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"  Then  you  have  won  indeed.  Hail  to  you, 
Berenice,  Empress  of  Rome !  " 

"  That  is  exactly  where  I  have  not  won. 
Your  brother  is  an  obstinate  man.  He  acknow- 
ledged his  promise  made  long  ago  to  marry 
me  so  soon  as  he  was  free,  but  he  exj)lained 
clearly  that  under  no  circumstances  can  I  be 
empress.  It  is  contrary  to  the  law,  and  he, 
as  the  great  exemplar,  forsooth  will  not  be  a 
law-breaker." 


250       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


"  Then  he  wishes  you  to  be  his  mistress,  not 
his  wife? " 

"  How  little  YOU  understand  vour  brother. 
He  proposes  to  abdicate  in  your  favour,  and 
to  return  with  me  to  Chalcis." 

Domitian  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise, but  after  a  moment's  thought  replied: 
"  It  cannot  be,  his  friends  would  never  per- 
mit him  to  carry  out  such  a  wild  scheme  as 
this.  I  myself  would  be  obliged  to  combat 
it.  If  he  is  so  infatuated  as  to  cast  away  the 
Empire  for  your  sake,  you  can  knead  him  as 
clay  in  your  hands  and  he  will  change  the  law 
or  defy  it  and  proclaim  you  Augusta." 

"Can  you  not  imagine  that  I  care  for 
Titus,  for  himself  alone?" 

"  Xo,  and  if  vou  were  so  mad,  I  tell  vou  this 
romantic  scheme  is  impossible.  Florus  would 
kill  you  before  you  could  embark,  and  even  if 
3"ou  succeeded  in  carrying  off  Titus,  I  should 
never  have  a  moment's  assurance  that  he 
would  not  tire  of  you  and  return." 

"  If  I  am  willing  to  take  that  risk,"  she 
replied  insolently,  "  I  do  not  see  why  I  should 
consider  you." 

He  sprang  upon  her,  his  hands  clutching 
her  throat.  "  You  will  promise  to  carry  out 
my  scheme,  or  I  will  kill  you,"  he  stammered, 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       251 

beside  himself  with  rage,  and  only  releasing 
his  hold  as  she  made  a  gesture  of  assent.  He 
glowered  upon  her  with  undisguised  hatred,  as 
he  strove  to  regain  his  self-possession. 

She  wiped  the  froth  from  her  lips,  terror- 
stricken  to  the  depths  of  her  cowardly  soul; 
but  though  her  effrontery  had  vanished,  a 
malignant  craft  lurked  beneath  her  surrender. 

"  I  will  serve  you,"  she  said,  "  but  remember, 
my  friend,  that  I  can  serve  you  better  alive 
than  dead." 

"  Good ;  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have  come 
to  your  senses.  You  angered  me  past  endur- 
ance, and  I  wdll  not  promise  that  I  shall  take 
such  folly  patiently  again ;  but  if  you  can  real- 
ise that  we  stand  or  fall  together  and  will  act 
accordingly,  I  will  protect  you." 

There  was  a  slight  noise  in  the  atrium  as 
of  a  passing  foot-fall,  and  the  drapery  in  the 
archway  was  swayed  by  a  draught  from  with- 
out; but  Domitian  took  no  note  of  it,  and 
Berenice  replied  with  clear,  distinct  utterance, 
"We  stand  or  fall  together,  dear  Domitian, 
but  let  me  understand  exactly  what  you  wish 
me  to  do,  and  how  far  our  interests  are  identi- 
cal. I  was  only  playing  with  Titus, — testing 
my  power  over  him  when  I  suggested  that  he 
should  abandon  Rome.     What  do  I  care  for 


252       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

him  without  the  Empire?  But  for  the  diadem 
you  are  infinitely  more  to  my  liking.  Still  I 
am  not  a  child  to  throw  away  everything  for 
love,  forsooth.  Was  it  worth  all  the  pains 
which  I  have  taken  to  return  to  the  East  no 
richer  than  I  came  and  burdened  beside  with 
that  love-crazed  fool?  When  he  comes  to 
claim  me,  he  will  find  that  I  have  reconsid- 
ered the  matter,  that  I  will  not  consent  to  his 
abdication.  Ts^ot  because  I  am  ambitious  or 
mercenary.  Oh,  no !  But  for  his  own  sake,  and 
that  of  the  people  of  Rome,  I  will  pretend  that 
the  sacrifice  would  be  too  great.  He  must 
carry  out  the  great  reforms  which  he  has  in- 
augurated, and  suffer  me  to  creep  away  and 
die.  You  will  see  that  he  will  be  completely 
duped,  and  will  come  to  my  terms.  He  is  the 
idol  of  the  people  and  of  the  Senate,  and  he 
may  bend  them  to  his  will  and  I  be  crowned. 
But  if  not,  Domitian,  if  he  fails — what  then?  " 

"  If  he  fails,  they  will  assassinate  him,  and 
save  us  the  trouble.  That  is  exactly  what  I 
hope  will  happen'' 

"And  me,  what  will  become  of  me?  Will 
they  slay  me  also?  " 

"  I  forgot  you,"  he  said  frankly.  "With  your 
coronation  our  interests  divide,  and  jon  com- 
plicate the  situation — still  you  deserve  reward. 


The  Villa  of  Unhappy  Love       253 

I  fear  we  must  not  call  in  the  assistance  of 
the  Roman  populace,  they  are  apt  to  go  too 
far.  I  will  stand  by  my  brother,  the  Senate 
7nust  accept  you,  and  then,  when  Titus  has 
made  your  position  secure,  you  must  see  to  it 
that  some  sudden  illness  removes  Titus.  And 
so,  all  hail  Berenice  Augusta!  ]May  your 
reiffn  be  without  end  and  his  a  short  one,  for 
I  swear  that  when  mine  begins,  I  will  divorce 
Domitia,  and  you  shall  be  my  Empress.  And 
so,  beautiful  Berenice,  forgive  my  late  vehe- 
mence and  greet  me  as  brother  and  lover." 

She  yielded  her  lips  loathingly,  but  as  they 
stood  in  this  loveless  embrace,  the  tapestry 
was  thrust  aside  by  an  imperious  hand,  and 
Titus  stood  before  them. 

"  Your  lover  doubtless,  but  never  your 
brother,"  he  said  coldly.  "  Domitian,  you  are 
sheltered  by  that  name;  for  the  sake  of  our 
mother  I  spare  your  life,  but  henceforth  re- 
member that  your  every  act  is  watched." 

Berenice  flashed  the  craven  a  look  of  tri- 
umph which  told  Domitian  as  he  slunk  self- 
betrayed  from  his  brother's  presence  that  she 
had  deliberately  ruined  herself  in  order  to  ruin 
him.  It  was  a  costly  vengeance,  but  it  sus- 
tained her  like  some  powerful  drug  and  en- 
abled her  to  play  the  tragic  comedy  to  the  end. 


254       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"  Berenice,"  said  Titus,  and  his  voice  even 
now  had  in  it  more  of  anguish  than  reproach, 
"  why  have  you  done  this,  since  you  must  have 
known  that  only  you  yourself  could  have  killed 
my  faith  and  love  ?  " 

Her  heart  cried  out  within  her,  "  Ask  the 
Princess  Domitilla.  She  will  understand; 
perhaps  after  I  have  gone  she  will  make  you 
understand  that  it  was  because  I  loved  you 
more  than  your  love."  He  might  have  read 
this  answer  in  her  eyes  had  she  not  covered 
them  with  her  hands,  as  she  stood  before  him 
silently  accepting  her  doom. 

"  You  have  spoken  truly,"  Titus  said 
sternly,  "  your  interests  were  the  same,  and 
you  fall  together.  Csecina  will  escort  you  to 
Antium,  whence  you  will  sail  for  Judea,  un- 
burdened by  the  love-sick  fool,  who  thought 
to  renounce  his  Empire  for  your  sake.  And 
so  farewell,  and  let  me  never  look  upon  your 
face  again." 


SHRINE   AND  RUINS  OF   THE   HOUSE   OF  THE   VESTALS — COLUMNS   OF 
TEMPLE   OF   CASTOR   AND    POLLUX— ROMAN    FORUM 


CHAPTER  V 


THE   NAMELESS    PEDESTAL 


A  SILENCE  which  could  be  felt,  more 
sinister  than  any  uproar,  paralysed  the 
tongues  and  hearts  of  the  excitable  Roman 
populace.  jMore  poignant  than  the  universal 
grief  which  had  recently  expressed  itself  in 
the  swelling  wail  that  followed  the  funeral 
procession  of  their  loved  Emperor  Titus,  more 
appalling  than  any  menacing  snarl  of  rage 
which  greeted  a  besieging  host,  this  unnatural 
quiet  told  of  a  deed  of  unutterable  horror  and 
unendurable  disgrace.  The  entire  city  had 
been  stunned  by  a  sinister  rumour  that  the 
beloved  and  revered  Cornelia,  Abbess  of  the 
Vestals,  had  been  arraigned  on  the  charge  of 
having  violated  her  vow  of  purity  and  was 
being  tried  for  her  life  behind  locked  doors 
at  the  villa  of  the  Emperor  Domitian.    None 

255 


256       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

believed  her  guilty;  it  was  notorious  that  Do- 
mitian  had  pursued  her  openly  and  that  she 
had  repulsed  and  defied  him,  and  equally  evi- 
dent that  this  was  his  revenge.  But  it  was  in- 
credible that  the  judges  would  lend  themselves 
to  so  infamous  a  crime  as  to  defame  the  char- 
acter of  an  innocent  woman  and  condemn  her 
to  the  most  horrible  of  deaths. 

Not  even  when  the  word  flew  from  mouth 
to  mouth  that  the  crypt  in  which  she  was  to 
be  buried  alive  was  actually  being  dug  in  the 
centre  of  the  Campus  Sceleratus,  could  the 
populace  realise  the  truth.  It  must  be  for 
some  other  purpose,  the  imagination  refused 
to  picture  so  monstrous  a  villainy.  Seeking 
for  some  news  a  crowd  had  gathered  in  the 
early  dawn  in  front  of  the  House  of  the 
Vestals, — that  mysterious  convent-like  abode 
so  jealouslj'-  guarded  that  no  man  might  enter, 
not  even  though  he  were  a  physician  and 
a  priestess  lay  in  mortal  illness, — a  crowd 
which  gazed  with  incredulous  dismay  through 
the  wide-open  doorway  into  the  magnificent 
atrium  at  a  sacrilege  unprecedented  in  the  his- 
tory of  Rome.  Not  a  Vestal  was  to  be  seen, 
but  between  the  columns  of  rosy  corallina 
breccia  and  leek-green  cipollino,  which  sup- 
ported the  two-storied  arcade  that  encircled 


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The  Nameless  Pedestal  257 

the  hall,  were  ranged  in  stately  procession  por- 
trait statues  of  the  former  abbesses  (Vestales 
jMaximse),  with  inscriptions  carved  upon  the 
pedestals,  which  were  the  pride  of  the  priest- 
esses, for  the  names,  Flavia  Publicia,  Celia 
Claudiana,  Numisia  ^laximilia,  and  others 
as  aristocratic,  represented  the  noblest  families 
of  Rome. 

Last  in  the  proud  array  stood  the  statue  of 
their  present  Abbess,  and  a  squad  of  workmen 
under  the  direction  of  the  common  executioner 
had  thrown  a  noose  over  its  neck  and  were 
dragging  it  from  its  base,  while  a  stone  mason 
was  chiselling  the  name  from  the  pedestal 
and  pretorians  sent  by  the  Emperor  were 
guarding  the  portal  from  any  sudden  on- 
slaught by  the  indignant  onlookers. 

As  the  statue  crashed  upon  the  marble  pave- 
ment, they  surged  forward  and  one  more  fear- 
less than  the  rest  demanded,  "  What  does  this 
mean? " 

"  It  means,"  replied  one  of  the  guards, 
"  that  the  guilty  woman  is  even  now  being 
punished  and  you  will  be  too  late  to  see  her 
inhumation  if  j^ou  linger  here." 

With  a  cry  of  horror,  the  threatening  mob 
instantly  abandoned  its  intention  of  chastising 
the  workmen,  and  hurried  toward  the  place  of 
17 


258       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

execution.  The  endeavour  of  the  authorities 
by  this  desecration  of  the  sanctuary  of  the 
Vestals  to  draw  attention  from  the  judicial 
murder  which  was  now  being  committed  had 
failed,  for  an  immense  concourse,  distracted  by 
sorrow  and  terror,  had  swarmed  to  the 
Campus  Sceleratus  and,  held  back  by  the 
soldiers,  gazed  weeping  at  the  inhuman 
spactacle. 

A  hearse,  covered  by  a  black  pall,  had  been 
borne  into  the  centre  of  the  field,  where  around 
a  yawning  pit  stood  the  officers  whose  duty 
it  was  to  carry  out  the  sentence.  The  pall  was 
lifted,  the  public  executioners  cut  the  leather 
thongs  which  bound  the  victim,  and  the  high 
priest  assisted  Cornelia  to  rise.  She  was  seen 
by  all  to  lift  her  arms  toward  the  sky  as  though 
protesting  her  innocence  before  the  high  gods. 
Then  calmly  she  descended  the  ladder  to  her 
living  tomb. 

Her  veil  caught  but  as  the  executioner  en- 
deavoured to  loosen  it  she  waved  him  back 
with  dignity,  disengaging  it  herself.  So  over- 
whelming, so  awful,  and  above  all  so  sudden 
had  been  this  deed  that  the  death-like  stillness 
which  betokened  a  paralysis  of  thought  con- 
tinued until  the  keystone  was  lowered  to  its 
place  in  the  dome  of  the  tomb,  and  the  dull 


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The  Nameless  Pedestal  259 

thud  of  the  falHng  clods  was  heard  upon  its 
roof. 

Then,  as  the  crowd  broke  up,  howls  of  rage 
and  wails  and  curses  mingled  in  a  roar  which 
caused  the  very  earth  to  tremble  and  must  have 
been  heard  by  the  buried  woman  herself.  But 
this  thunderous  indignation  was  as  impotent 
as  it  was  noisy.  Too  cowed  to  rescue  Corneha 
or  to  pull  down  the  Emperor's  palatial  villa 
upon  his  head,  the  mob  vented  its  fury  upon 
the  less  guilty  Celer,  who  had  thought  to  pur- 
chase his  life  by  falsely  confessing  himself 
guilty  when  charged  with  being  the  Vestal's 
paramour — and  dragging  the  perjured  wretch 
through  the  Forum,  they  flogged  him  to  death 
in  the  Comitium.  Domitian  sent  no  order  to 
oppose  their  brief  rage,  well  knowing  that  so 
it  would  work  itself  off  and  his  own  safety  be 
assured. 

And  yet  there  were  some  in  Rome  who  truly 
loved  Cornelia — the  Princess  Flavia  and  her 
husband  who  had  risked  their  lives  in  vain  ap- 
peal to  the  Emperor,  and  one  more  devoted 
who  had  even  planned  a  rescue,  which  had  been 
discovered  and  foiled  at  the  last  moment. 
Only  one  man  in  the  city  still  laboured 
with  a  phrensied  devotion  that  was  very 
near    to   insanity    upon    a    scheme    which   he 


26o       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

confessed    to    himself    was    but    a    forlorn 
hope. 

This  man  was  the  Greek  artist  Askletarion, 
who  could  never  forget  that  he  owed  his  life 
to  Cornelia,  who  had  met  him  as  he  was  being 
led  to  execution  and,  exercising  her  privilege 
as  Abbess  of  the  Vestals,  had  commanded  the 
guards  to  set  him  free. 

She  had  not  rescued  him  from  death  from 
any  chance  whim,  or  simply  from  her  natural 
kindness  of  heart,  but  because  having  care- 
fully followed  his  trial,  she  believed  him  in- 
nocent of  the  charge  of  having  been  accessory 
to  the  mysterious  illness  which  had  carried  tlie 
Emperor  Titus  to  the  grave  and  placed  his 
brother  Domitian  upon  the  throne. 

Askletarion,  from  devotion  to  his  patron, 
had  abandoned  his  painting  to  tend  Titus  in 
his  long  agony,  which,  according  to  the  diag- 
nosis of  his  physicians,  was  caused  by  an  ulcer 
in  the  brain. 

Titus  himself  believed  that  the  excruciating 
pain  betokened  the  presence  of  a  poisonous 
insect  gnawing  day  and  night,  except  when  it 
stopped  to  listen  to  the  blows  of  a  blacksmith 
upon  an  anvil  at  his  bedside. 

There  were  those,  however,  who  darkly 
hinted  poison,  and  Domitian,  to  turn  suspicion 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  261 

from  himself,  pretended  to  helieve  that  the  in- 
sect described  by  his  brother,  or  some  powder 
of  equally  malignant  character,  had  been 
inhaled  from  roses  brought  to  him  by  Askleta- 
rion  as  a  parting  gift  from  Berenice  when,  re- 
pudiated by  Titus,  she  returned  to  Judea. 

Askletarion  had  been  condemned  to  death 
as  her  accomplice,  and  though  rescued  by 
Cornelia,  felt  that  Domitian  would  not  re- 
spect her  vindication,  and  judged  it  prudent 
to  disappear  from  Rome.  Not  until  it  was 
rumoured  that  the  Abbess  of  the  Vestals  w^as 
being  tried  for  her  life,  was  it  known  by  his 
former  friends  that  he  had  been  all  the  while 
in  the  city,  following  the  humble  occupation 
of  an  excavator  of  drains,  living  an  under- 
ground life  and  on  his  rare  appearance 
disguised  beyond  recognition  by  mire  and 
clay. 

His  gratitude  to  Cornelia  had  determined 
him  to  run  all  risks  in  her  behalf,  and  as  he 
was  known  in  the  department  of  public  works 
as  a  skilful  excavator,  he  had  applied  for  and 
obtained  the  position  of  grave-digger  for 
executed  criminals.  To  him,  in  fact,  as  his 
first  work  had  been  confided  the  digging  of 
the  crypt  in  which  Cornelia  had  been  buried. 
So  rapid  had  been  the  progress  of  events  that 


262       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


he  had  had  no  time  to  enlist  accomplices  be- 
fore ordered  to  the  execution  of  the  task. 

The  Campus  Sceleratus  was  a  lonely  plain 
of  vast  extent,  bounded  on  the  east  by  the  city 
wall,  on  the  north  by  the  broad  Via  Nomen- 
tana,  leading  to  the  gate  of  the  same  name, 
and  on  the  west  and  south-west  by  other  fields 
belonging  to  scattered  houses  on  the  Viminal 
Hill.  On  the  south-east  the  city  wall  made  a 
detour  to  include  the  Pretorian  camp,  whose 
parade  "^ground  was  practically  a  continuation 
of  the  Campus  Sceleratus,  every  foot  of 
which  was  under  the  constant  observation  of 
these  soldiers,  noted  for  their  unreasoning 
fidelity  to  the  Emperor. 

Except  for  the  barracks  of  the  Pretorians, 
the  spot  was  terribly  isolated;  the  nearest 
buildings,  a  row  of  shabby  houses,  were  in  the 
opposite  direction  facing  the  Via  Nomentana, 
several  hundred  feet  from  the  vault,  with 
no  irregularity  in  the  contour  of  the  land,  no 
shrub  or  object  of  anj^  kind  in  the  intervening 
waste.  The  ground  would  be  guarded  after 
Cornelia's  burial  until  every  possibility  of 
lingering  life  must  be  relinquished,  and  as 
Askletarion  surveyed  the  spot,  he  realised  the 
hopelessness  of  all  rescue. 

If  it  came  at  all,  it  must  be  through  a  sub- 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  263 

terranean  passage,  not  from  the  direction  of 
the  city  wall,  whose  deep  sub-structure  barred 
the  free  campagna,  nor  from  those  far  distant 
dwellings  to  the  south-west,  but  from  the 
cellar  of  one  of  the  houses  on  the  Via  Nomen- 
tana,  a  great  thoroughfare  always  crowded 
during  the  day  by  wayfarers  entering  or 
leaving  the  city  gate.  But  these  houses  were 
huddled  so  closely  together  that  the  noise  of 
excavation  at  night  must  be  heard  by  the 
neighbours,  and  how  would  it  be  possible  to 
carry  away  the  earth  displaced  from  so  public 
a  place?  Even  if  these  difficulties  could  be 
surmounted,  a  week  at  least  would  be  required 
to  open  a  tunnel  from  the  cellar  to  the  tomb, 
and  long  before  it  could  be  completed, 
Cornelia  would  have  perished  from  want  of 
air. 

In  spite  of  the  impossibility  of  the  task, 
Askletarion's  eyes  persistently  scanned  the 
surrounding  landscape  for  some  sign  of  hope, 
and  suddenly  with  a  great  leap  of  the  heart 
he  recognised  it. 

A  slender  thread  of  green  crossed  the  Cam- 
pus from  a  market  garden  on  the  Viminal  a 
half-mile  away,  passing  not  ten  feet  from  the 
spot  where  he  was  digging,  straight  on  to  the 
city  wall.     Askletarion's  experience  told  him 


264       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

that  this  tiny  strip  of  fresh  verdure  in  the 
midst  of  the  arid  waste  indicated  the  presence 
of  water  beneath  the  surface,  possibly  a  drain 
from  the  irrigation  ditches  of  the  distant  gar- 
den, and  he  could  scarcely  wait  to  inspect  its 
outlet  until  his  task  was  finished  and  the  ex- 
cavators gave  place  to  the  masons,  who  were 
to  wall  the  interior  of  the  tomb.  His  examina- 
tion showed  an  orifice  in  the  city  wall, 
hardly  a  foot  in  diameter,  from  which  water 
dripped,  but  in  so  slender  a  stream  that 
Askletarion  argued  that  the  waste  water  oc- 
cupied but  a  small  portion  of  the  sewer,  and 
that  there  must  be  a  current  of  air  in  the  upper 
part.  If  this  current  could  be  connected  by 
piping  with  Cornelia's  tomb,  a  system  of  ven- 
tilation would  be  established  and  her  life  pro- 
longed while  a  subterranean  passage  could  be 
dug  from  the  cellar  of  one  of  the  houses  on 
the  Via  Xomentana.  He  turned  into  this 
street  and  was  overjoyed  to  discover  a  vacant 
house  bearing  the  placard  "  For  Sale."  The 
door  was  unlocked,  and,  entering,  he  found  it 
admirably  suited  his  purpose — for  it  backed 
upon  the  Campus,  and  the  cellar  extended 
through  to  the  rear. 

As  he  left  the  premises,  he  was  gruffly  ac- 
costed by  a  man  demanding  his  business  in  the 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  265 

house.  Askletarion  replied  that  he  had  been 
sent  by  his  employer,  who  intended  to  open 
a  wine-shop  in  the  lower  story.  "  He  is  too 
late,"  retorted  the  other.  "  The  house  was 
mine,  but  I  have  just  sold  it." 

"  Doubtless  to  my  master,"  Askletarion  as- 
serted glibly. 

"  The  new  owner  is  no  publican,"  the  man 
replied.  "  He  is  evidently  a  wealth}^  patri- 
cian, for  he  paid  all  demands  in  full  without 
dispute,  and  said  nothing  about  the  shop,  his 
only  concern  being  to  take  possession  of  the 
upper  rooms  to-morrow.  You,  from  the  mud 
and  soil  with  which  you  are  bedaubed,  are  no 
gentleman's  servant,  but  a  digger  of  sewers." 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Askletarion,  "  how 
clever  you  are.  I  am  an  excavator,  and  have 
been  engaged  by  my  master  Corvinus  Sextus, 
wine  merchant,  to  enlarge  the  cellar  toward 
the  rear,  in  order  that  it  will  be  possible  to 
store  more  wine." 

"But  that  is  not  the  name  of  the  gentle- 
man who  purchased  the  house." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  did  not  intend  to  say 
that  my  master  had  bought  the  entire  prop- 
erty; doubtless  he  has  only  leased  the  lower 
story  and  the  cellar  from  your  fine  gentleman. 
At  any  rate,  the  wine  is  on  its  way  from  the 


266       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

vineyards,  and  I  have  been  sent  to  provide 
accommodation  for  it." 

"  You  will  have  to  prove  that  to-morrow  to 
the  new  owner,"  grumbled  the  man.  "  In  the 
meantime  take  yourself  off,  for  I  am  going 
to  lock  the  doors." 

This  rebuff  did  not  in  the  least  discourage 
Askletarion.  There  would  be  time  enough  to 
overcome  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  securing 
the  house.  It  was  enough  to  know  that  it 
existed,  but  the  ventilating  pipes  must  be  laid 
that  very  night. 

The  young  man's  resourceful  mind  instantly 
formulated  a  scheme  whereby  he  might  be 
permitted  by  the  guards  to  re-enter  the  Cam- 
pus and  take  up  the  work  which  he  had  re- 
ported as  completed.  He  first  sought  an 
interview  with  the  director  of  the  fossores  and 
communicated  his  discovery  of  the  sewer. 

"  I  noticed  that  strip  of  grass,"  replied  the 
official,  "  and  drew  the  same  conclusion,  but 
what  of  it?" 

"  Only  this,"  replied  Askletarion,  "  the 
water  is  seeping  through  from  that  broken 
pipe,  and  before  morning  will  have  forced  it- 
self through  the  fresh  mortar  and  have  filled 
the  vault." 

The    chief    of    excavators    swore    roundly. 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  267 

"  And  great  credit  I  will  receive  for  a  piece  of 
work  like  that!  Take  men,  dig  down  and  re- 
pair the  sewer.  I  am  too  weary  to  go  myself, 
but  I  will  write  an  order  to  the  guard  to 
permit  you  to  continue  the  work  into  the  night 
if  necessary." 

Askletarion  had  succeeded  beyond  his  hopes. 
The  installation  of  the  ventilating  apparatus 
could  be  quickly  accomplished,  and  he  had  even 
a  few  hours  at  his  disposal  before  he  could 
begin  the  work.  He  ate  mechanically  as  one 
might  thrList  fuel  into  an  engine,  but  he 
could  not  sleep,  and  as  he  reflected  on  the 
difficulties  before  him,  they  grew  more 
formidable. 

The  impossibility  of  carrying  out  unaided 
all  the  details  of  the  enterprise  was  evident. 
"  I  must  have  help,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  not 
onty  strong  anus  to  dig  the  tunnel,  but  to  con- 
vey the  Lady  Cornelia  to  some  place  of  safety 
far  from  Rome.  I  must  find  influential  and 
wealthy  friends  willing  to  risk  even  life  itself 
in  her  behalf." 

One  such  friend  he  had  immediately  called 
to  mind,  the  pretor,  Valerius  Licianus,  but  he 
had  heard  thatDomitian  had  profited  by  his  ab- 
sence from  Rome  to  accomplish  this  infamous 
crime.     Perhaps  it  was  well  that  he  was  not 


268       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

at  hand,  for  he  would  be  the  first  to  be  sus- 
pected and  watched.  All  of  Cornelia's  re- 
latives and  known  friends  were  powerless  to 
aid  her  for  the  same  reason;  from  what 
quarter  then  could  help  come?  While  asking 
himself  this  question,  as  he  left  the  offices  of 
the  department  of  public  works,  he  had  been 
walking  toward  the  Porta  Latina.  His  foot- 
steps had  taken  this  direction,  an  opposite  one 
from  the  Campus  Sceleratus,  quite  uncon- 
sciously to  himself,  but  in  obedience  to  force 
of  old  habit,  for  it  was  a  way  he  had  daily 
taken  when,  in  the  employ  of  Titus,  he  had 
decorated  the  villa  of  the  Princess  Flavia 
Domitilla. 

"  Whither  am  I  wandering?  "  he  asked  him- 
self suddenly,  and  in  the  same  breath  ex- 
claimed Avith  emotion,  "  The  Villa  of  Unhappy 
Love,"  for  the  words  struck  him  as  an  answer 
to  both  of  his  questions.  The  spot  was  most 
unlikely  to  be  suspected  as  affording  harbour- 
age to  the  condemned  woman,  for  it  was  owned 
and  occupied  by  members  of  Domitian's  own 
family,  Flavins  Clemens,  and  his  wife  Flavia 
Domitilla.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  they  were 
Christians,  and  they  would  not  be  suspected  of 
harbouring  a  priestess  of  the  pagan  religion. 
But   this   very   fact   gave   Askletarion   hope. 


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The  Nameless  Pedestal  269 

Above  their  heads  also,  suspended  by  a  hair, 
hung  the  sword  of  persecution  and  they  would 
know  how  to  sympathise  with  this  innocent 
victim  of  the  Emperor's  injustice. 

The  Princess  was  a  friend  of  Cornelia's, 
though  this  fact  was  not  generally  known,  and 
on  listening  to  Askletarion's  scheme,  she  ex- 
claimed with  eagerness: 

"  We  are  working  to  the  same  end.  I  can 
only  confide  to  you  that  the  tomb  will  be 
opened  on  the  night  after  the  living  burial. 
It  will  not  be  necessary  to  dig  the  long  tunnel 
from  the  house  in  the  Via  Nomentana,  but  your 
ingenious  arrangement  for  furnishing  fresh 
air  is  exactly  what  is  needed,  for  we  feared  that 
Cornelia  might  have  suffocated  before  she 
could  be  removed." 

"  But,  dear  Lady,"  Askletarion  asked  in 
wonder,  "  how  will  it  be  possible  to  rescue  her 
when  the  spot  will  be  securely  guarded  by 
soldiers?  " 

"Of  the  fourth  legion  who  are  devoted  to  the 
death  to  the  commander  who  led  them  to  the 
sack  of  Jerusalem." 

"  But  our  lord  Titus,  alas,  is  dead." 

"  Their  general,  yes,  but  not  the  centurion 
who,  as  a  comrade,  shared  their  hardships 
throughout  the  entire  campaign  and  mounted 


270       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  scaling  ladder  at  their  head  at  the  taking 
of  the  Tower  of  Antonia." 

"  Valerius  Licianus,  for  whom  they  would 
give  their  lives,  has  been  sent  to  Africa  by  the 
Emperor  in  anticipation  of  such  an  attempt 
as  this." 

"  Valerius  was  sent  indeed,  and  had  set  out 
upon  his  voyage,  but  three  days  ago,  when  my 
husband  first  learned  from  Domitian  that  he 
had  resolved  on  Cornelia's  death,  he  humed 
to  Porto  and  found  that  Valerius  had  been 
obliged  to  put  back  to  repair  injuries  which 
the  galley  had  sustained  during  a  storm. 
They  arrived  here  at  dawn  to-day.  We  have 
kept  Valerius  in  hiding,  but  mj''  husband  has 
brought  several  of  his  most  trusted  soldiers 
to  him  and  has  succeeded  in  having  them  ap- 
pointed as  guards.  The  details  are  all  agreed 
upon.  Horses  will  be  waiting  saddled  in  the 
stables  of  the  barracks,  just  outside  the  city 
gate,  and  the  devoted  guards  will  act  as  Cor- 
nelia's escort  and  will  flee  with  her,  desert- 
ing to  a  man,  for  they  are  all  of  the  opinion 
that  such  an  act  of  infamy  on  the  part  of  the 
Emperor  absolves  them  from  their  allegiance." 

Askletarion,  overjoyed,  fell  upon  his  knees 
and  kissed  the  hem  of  the  robe  of  Flavia  Do- 
mitilla.     *'  I  will  hasten  now  to  my  labour," 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  271 

he  said,  "  for  the  sun  has  set,  and  the  masons 
will  have  finished  their  work.  Let  me  take 
with  me  your  steward  Stephanus;  he  is  faith- 
ful and  a  man  of  Herculean  strength,  and 
can  render  me  invaluable  assistance." 

"  He  shall  go  with  you  and  shall  provide 
you  with  whatever  you  need.  Shall  you  be  at 
the " 

"At  the  murder  to-morrow?  Yes,  I  must 
not  lose  any  opportunity  for  observing.  Some 
circumstance  might  occur  which  could  be  used 
to  advantage." 

"My  husband  will  be  there;  follow  him 
when  all  is  over,  and  tell  him  if  you  have  been 
successful  in  your  scheme." 

So  far  fortune  had  favoured  Askletarion, 
and  the  task  of  instalhng  his  apparatus  was 
accomplished  with  less  difficulty  than  he  had 
anticipated.  The  sentry  accepted  without 
questions  the  order  of  the  chief  of  the  fossores, 
leaving  him  and  his  assistant  unwatched,  while 
they  laid  the  pipes,  and  removed  from  the 
wall  of  the  vault  two  stones,  resetting  in  their 
places  others  in  which  small  holes  had  been 
drilled.  These  Askletarion  concealed  behind 
the  furnishings  of  the  crypt,  which  had  already 
arrived,  for  by  ancient  custom  a  cot-bed,  an 
oil  lamp,  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  a  jug  of  water 


272       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

were  placed  within  the  tomb.  This  pretence 
of  humanity  was  in  reality  but  a  refinement  of 
cruelty,  lengthening  as  it  did  the  sufferings 
of  the  condemned,  but  in  the  present  instance 
the  excavator  was  grateful  for  their  presence, 
and  determined  to  light  the  lamp  before  clos- 
ing the  sepulchre  that  the  horror  of  darkness 
might  not  be  added  to  Cornelia's  anxieties  dur- 
ing the  few  hours  which  must  elapse  before 
her  rescue,  though  the  Princess  had  assured 
him  that  she  would  be  informed  of  her  friends' 
efforts. 

Their  work  at  the  tomb  was  completed,  morn- 
ing was  dawning,  and  Askletarion  and  Ste- 
phanus  left  the  Campus,  hopeful  but  too  much 
excited  to  rest.  As  they  walked  across  the 
field  in  the  direction  of  the  citv,  thev  were 
halted  by  a  band  of  soldiers  from  the  Pretorian 
camp.  Askletarion  showed  the  permit  of  his 
superior  allowing  them  to  work  at  night,  but 
his  heart  sank  as  he  recognised  the  officer  in 
command  of  the  detachment.  It  was  Gessius 
Florus,  noted  for  his  merciless  brutality,  not 
to  men  alone,  but  more  particularly  to  women, 
whom  he  regarded  as  the  cause  of  all  evil. 

Florus  did  not,  however,  appear  to  recog- 
nise him,  though  he  ordered  both  fossores  to  re- 
turn with  him  to  the  vault,  and  immediately 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  273 

discovered  that  a  trench  had  been  dug  and 
filled  in  between  the  sewer  and  the  sepulchre. 
This  circumstance  could  not  fail  to  excite 
his  susi^icion  and  he  scrutinised  Askletarion 
keenly,  while  demanding  sharply  the  reason 
of  this  connection. 

"  The  water  had  been  percolating  through 
the  loose  soil  into  the  vault,"  Askletarion  re- 
plied, "  and  I  wished  to  pack  the  earth  more 
firmly." 

"  Your  worship  may  observe  for  yourself 
how  much  moisture  has  already  penetrated  the 
wall,"  said  Stephanus,  pointing  to  a  small 
muddy  pool  on  the  floor  where  he  had  slily 
emptied  the  gourd  of  water  which  he  had 
brought  to  use  in  mixing  the  mortar. 

Florus  regarded  the  two  men  keenly. 
"  Open  the  sewer,"  he  commanded;  "  this  may 
be  a  part  of  the  scheme  of  rescue  of  which 
we  have  heard." 

The  soldiers  watched  while  Stephanus  re- 
opened the  sewer  a  little  above,  and  then  a 
little  below  the  spot  where  the  ventilating  pipes 
tapped  it.  Florus  also  scrutinised  the  cutting 
and  seemed  reassured. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  said  to  his  men,  "  it  will 
be  well  to  make  a  thorough  examination  of 
the  premises  beyond  the  market  gardens  irri- 
18 


274       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

gated  by  this  drain  and  also  to  place  a  patrol 
outside  the  city  wall.  ISIiners  might  follow 
the  sewer  from  either  direction  directly  to  the 
vault." 

Askletarion  could  not  repress  a  sardonic 
smile.  "  Is  there  then  any  one  so  mad  as  to 
attempt  such  an  impossibility?" 

"  Something  is  on  foot,"  replied  the  other. 
"  The  fourth  legion,  which  was  to  have  fur- 
nished the  death-watch,  has  been  ordered  to 
make  a  forced  march  to-night  to  some  fortress 
in  the  south  of  Itaty,  and  we  have  been  de- 
tailed to  this  business  in  their  place." 

"  You  go  on  duty  early,"  remarked  Askle- 
tarion. "  I  understood  that  the  execution  was 
not  to  take  place  until  noon." 

"  Tho  hour  has  been  changed.  According  to 
law,  the  ceremony  must  be  public,  but  it  seemed 
undesirable  to  allow  a  mob  to  gather.  As  you 
see  the  troops  are  approaching,  and  will 
form  in  a  hollow  square  about  the  field, 
ready  to  charge  in  case  of  any  disturbance. 
You  may  remain,  since  you  will  have  to 
fill  in  the  earth  after  the  culprit  is  housed; 
but  stand  aside  until  you  are  summoned — for 
the  procession  is  coming." 

In  fact,  in  spite  of  the  precautions  taken, 
the  information  given  by  the  soldier  at  the 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  275 

palace  of  the  Vestals  had  flown  from  mouth  to 
mouth  and  an  ever-increasing  multitude  was 
escorting  the  doomed  woman  to  the  fatal  field. 

"  You  must  stay,"  whispered  Stephanus  to 
Askletarion,  "but  I  will  go  and  notify  my 
master  and  the  Lord  Licianus,  who  may  not 
have  heard  of  this  change  in  the  hour." 

*'  Yes,  go,"  replied  Askletarion,  "  and  fail 
not  to  tell  them  that  the  plot  has  been  dis- 
covered and  the  fourth  legion  removed.  I 
greatly  fear  that  the  only  hope  now  left  is 
to  tunnel  to  the  vault  according  to  my  original 
plan.  Confer  with  the  Princess  and  meet  me 
at  that  vacant  house  on  the  Via  Nomentana." 

Stephanus  disappeared  and  the  heart-rend- 
ing tragedy  took  place  as  has  been  described 
with  all  the  sickening  details  which  history  has 
so  circumstantially  preserved. 

The  family  of  Cornelia  and  the  Vestals,  who 
were  commanded  to  be  present  at  the  execution 
of  their  Abbess,  took  leave  of  her  upon  their 
knees.  A  Greek  girl  named  Euphrosyne,  the 
slave  of  Cornelia,  presented  her  with  a  lily, 
which  the  condemned  woman  accepted  declar- 
ing the  weeping  girl  free.  Then,  pausing  for 
an  instant  to  protest  her  innocence,  she  gave  a 
last  longing  look  in  the  direction  of  the  Via 
Nomentana  and  descended  the  ladder. 


276       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Askletarion's  eyes  had  followed  Cornelia's 
farewell  glance  and  he  saw,  standing  at  an  open 
upper  window  of  the  vacant  house,  a  man  hold- 
ing a  lily  similar  to  the  one  given  to  Cornelia. 
The  man's  face  was  deadly  pale.  As  the  unfor- 
tunate w^oman  lifted  her  hand,  as  Askletarion 
was  now  sure,  in  signal  to  him,  he  threw  up 
both  arms  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  staggered, 
and  fell  backward  into  the  room.  He  had 
only  appeared  for  an  instant,  but  Askletarion 
even  at  that  distance  had  recognised  Valerius 
Licianus. 

With  feverish  impatience  Askletarion  waited 
while  the  masons  closed  the  aperture  in  the 
roof  of  the  vault,  and  hastily  filled  in  the  earth, 
while  the  crowd  loaded  him  with  their  impre- 
cations. He  was  in  real  danger,  for  their 
blood  was  up,  and  if  a  voice  had  not  cried, 
"  Celer,  let  us  find  the  dastard  Celer,"  the 
mob  might  have  torn  in  pieces  the  innocent 
grave-digger.  He  followed  in  their  rear  and 
diverging  from  them  after  he  had  passed  the 
guards  made  his  way  to  the  house. 

The  main  door  was  locked,  but  he  forced 
that  of  the  cellar  ran  to  the  upper  story, 
and  as  he  anticipated,  found  Valerius  Lici- 
anus lying  unconscious  upon  the  floor.  It  was 
long  before  Askletarion  succeeded  in  restoring 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  277 

him,  longer  still  before  Valerius  could  compre- 
hend that  there  was  still  hope.  He  begged 
insistently  for  "  the  phial,"  that  he  might  die 
with  Cornelia. 

"  What  phial?  "  Askletarion  demanded. 

"  The  phial  in  the  lily,"  the  other  replied, 
and  tearing  apart  the  petals  of  the  flower 
which  he  had  held,  he  would,  but  for  Ask- 
letarion's  resistance,  have  possessed  him- 
self of  a  phial  of  poison  hidden  in  its 
heart. 

"  Gather  together  your  faculties,"  ex- 
claimed the  excavator,  "  and  try  to  under- 
stand that  this  is  no  time  for  suicide.  Cornelia 
is  safe  for  the  present,  and  we  need  your  help 
to  perfect  her  rescue." 

An  expression  of  unspeakable  delight  ir- 
radiated the  face  of  Valerius  for  a  moment, 
and  then  changed  to  one  of  despair.  "  ]Mis- 
erable  wretch  that  I  am!  "  he  cried.  "  I  have 
defeated  all  your  plans.     I  have  killed  her." 

"  How  killed  her?  " 

"  Did  not  Euphrosyne  give  her  a  lily?  She 
did,  she  did.  I  saw  it  in  her  hand.  That 
lily,  like  this  one,  contained  a  poison  so  power- 
ful that  he  who  swallows  it  dies  instantly,  and 
there  is  no  remedy." 

Askletarion  uttered  a  cry  of  rage,  and  seiz- 


278       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

ing  Valerius  by  the  shoulders  flung  him  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Yes,  kill  me,"  replied  Valerius;  "  I  do  not 
wish  to  live,  but  first  hear  me.  When  I 
learned  that  our  plot  had  failed,  that  my  faith- 
ful soldiers  had  been  sent  to  Tusculum,  that 
the  execution  had  been  hastened,  and  there 
seemed  no  possibility  of  rescue, — rather  than 
that  the  woman  I  idolised  should  suffer  linger- 
ing agony,  I  provided  her  with  the  means  of 
painless  death.  I  wrapped  the  phial  in  a  tiny 
scroll  of  parchment  on  which  I  explained  all, 
and  promised  also  to  take  the  poison  and  meet 
her  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  of  Death. 
She  is  not  the  woman  to  hesitate.  Without 
doubt  her  gentle  ghost  is  now  wondering  that 
I  have  not  kept  my  tryst." 

"  It  may  be,"  suggested  the  other,  "  that  she 
has  not  discovered  either  the  phial  or  the 
letter." 

"  Euphrosyne  promised  to  tell  her  mistress 
that  there  was  a  message  within  the  lily.  She 
saw  me  and  she  lifted  the  flower  in  token  that 
she  comprehended." 

Askletarion  felt  that  this  was  probably  the 
case,  but  he  had  no  intention  of  abating  any 
effort. 

"  If  you  reproach  yourself  for  one  blunder," 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  279 

he  said,  *'  let  her  not  die  because  of  another. 
There  will  be  time  enough  for  despair  when  we 
find  your  fears  verified.  A  hundred  things 
may  have  happened  to  foil  your  insane  pro- 
ject. The  lily  may  have  been  examined,  and 
the  phial  removed.  I  have  paced  the  distance, 
determined  the  direction,  and  have  calculated 
that  six  days  and  nights  will  be  ample  time. 
The  lady  Cornelia  has  food  and  water  sufficient 
to  sustain  Hfe.  The  lamp  will  go  out,  it  is 
true " 

"  And  in  those  hours  of  darkness  and  de- 
spair, she  may  lose  her  reason.  The  ventilat- 
ing apparatus  may  be  discovered,  or  rats  may 
reach  her  through  it." 

"  Man,  man,"  cried  Askletarion,  losing  all 
patience,  "  admit  not  the  possibility  of  failure, 
but  consider  how  we  may  prosecute  the  work 
before  us. 

"  First  of  all,  that  we  may  be  uninterrupted, 
we  must  lease  the  building  from  its  present 


owner." 


"  I  am  the  owner,"  said  Licianus.  "  I  pur- 
chased it  yesterday  in  order  to  have  a  rendez- 
vous for  my  troop." 

"  Good!  "  exclaimed  Askletarion,  "  then  we 
may  consider  the  next  point,"  but  at  that  in- 
stant their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  an 


28o       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

altercation  in  the  street  below.  A  cart,  laden 
with  wine-kegs,  had  halted  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  the  voice  of  the  former  owner  was 
heard  protesting: 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  say  that  you 
intend  to  open  a  wine-shop  here,  but  I  tell 
you  that  vou  are  not  the  man  to  whom  I  sold 
the  premises  yesterday." 

"  Come  down  at  once,"  Askletarion  whis- 
pered to  Licianus,  "  and  agree  to  everything 
I  say.  That  is  Stephanus,  who  has  been  sent 
by  the  Princess  Flavia;  this  is  a  part  of  our 
plan." 

Dragging  the  wondering  man  with  him, 
Askletarion  hastily  appeared  before  the  dis- 
putants. "  It  is  all  right,  my  friend,"  he 
assured  the  landlord.  "  Here  is  your  gentle- 
man, who  has  leased  the  property  to  my 
master  yonder,  as  I  told  you  yesterday." 

"  Precisely,"  corroborated  Valerius,  "  I  for- 
got to  mention  it  to  you.  I  consider  myself 
fortunate  in  having  so  honest  a  tenant,  as  I 
am  leaving  Rome  for  an  indefinite  period," 
and  handing  the  key  of  the  house  to  Stephanus, 
he  hastily  mingled  with  the  throng  in  the  street 
and  disappeared. 

It  was  Askletarion's  turn  to  be  surprised  by 
this  turn  of  affairs,  but  the  sudden  defection 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  281 

of  Valerius  was  immediately  explained  by  the 
arrival  upon  the  scene  of  Florus,  whose  recog- 
nition he  dreaded,  and  with  good  reason,  for 
the  officer  had  been  informed  that  Valerius 
Licianus  had  been  seen  at  one  of  the  windows, 
and  had  come  to  make  a  thorough  inspection 
of  the  building.  Florus  examined  the  upper 
story  with  especial  care,  possessing  himself  of 
the  lilv  which  Askletarion  had  neglected  to 
hide,  and  listening  with  interest  to  the  land- 
lord's information  that  the  new  owner  of  the 
house  had  just  left  the  city.  He  even  de- 
scended to  the  cellar,  where  fortunately  the 
work  had  not  as  yet  been  begun,  sounded  the 
walls,  and  left  the  house,  his  mind  apparently 
so  preoccupied  with  the  mysterious  absentee 
proprietor  that  he  did  not  notice  Askletarion, 
who  was  moving  in  the  casks.  The  inspection 
over,  Stephanus  closed  the  street  door  and  re- 
garded his  friend  with  triumph.  "  We  can 
begin  now  to  dig?  "  he  asked. 

"Impossible,"  Askletarion  replied;  "even 
though  the  landlord  and  the  neighbours  might 
believe  that  we  were  simply  enlarging  the 
cellar,  the  suspicions  of  Florus  would  be 
roused  at  the  first  appearance  of  fresh 
earth." 

"  None  will  appear,"  replied  Stephanus. 


282       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"What  will  you  do  with  it?  To  dig  our 
tunnel,  w^e  must  remove  more  earth  than  this 
house  can  hold." 

Stephanus  grinned  broadly.  "  "V^^en  you 
helped  roll  down  the  casks,  you  must  have 
noticed  that  all  except  the  one  which  we  left 
in  the  shop  were  empty.  We  will  fill  them 
with  earth,  the  cart  will  return  to-morrow,  and 
carry  them  awav.  What  more  natural  than 
that  casks  supposed  to  be  full  of  wine  should 
be  delivered  at  the  shop  and  the  empty  ones 
returned?  The  idea  is  not  mine,  but  the  Prin- 
cess Flavia's  with  whom  I  discussed  it.  The 
boy  who  is  conducting  the  cart  back  to  the 
villa  will  inform  her  that  all  is  well,  and  more 
fossores  will  join  us  after  nightfall.  Valerius 
Licianus  will  also  return,  for  his  announcement 
of  his  departure  was  merely  to  throw  Florus 
off  his  scent.     So  now  to  our  work." 

For  three  days  the  excavating  proceeded 
without  interruption,  relays  of  fresh  men  con- 
stantly relieving  those  exhausted  by  the  hard 
labour,  while  mechanics  installed  shelving  in 
the  shop  and  repaired  the  roof,  keeping  up  all 
the  while  an  incessant  pounding  of  metal  to 
cover  the  noise  of  the  pickaxes  and  shovels. 

On  the  third  night,  the  conspirators  were 
startled  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  street  door, 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  283 

and  the  persistent  demands  of  a  drunken 
roisterer  for  wine. 

"  The  shop  is  not  yet  ready  to  serve  cus- 
tomers," Askletarion  replied  from  the  window. 

"  I  have  already  told  him  so,"  replied  a 
patrol,  appearing  from  the  shadow  of  the  op- 
posite house.  "  Come  with  me  sirrah,  to  the 
guard-house,  you  have  had  too  much  wine 
already." 

"  As  you  will,  but  first  let  us  drink,"  in- 
sisted the  pretended  drunkard,  trolling  forth 
a  convivial  song;  and  Askletarion,  who  recog- 
nised the  voice  of  Valerius,  hastened  to  unbar 
the  door  and  serve  refreshment.  Licianus 
was  in  an  exalted  mood  and  recklessly  plied 
his  captor  with  drink  until  the  latter  staggered 
away,  swearing  eternal  friendship. 

"  A  narrow  escape,"  commented  Valerius. 
"  That  is  Florus,  and  he  knows  me  well. 
Thrice  I  have  attempted  to  return  and  have 
nearly  run  into  his  arms.  My  disguise  to- 
night must  be  good  since  he  did  not  recognise 
me,  but  in  future,  deal  with  him  for  me,  for  I 
must  not  again  run  the  risk  of  discovery." 

"  Nor  I,"  replied  Askletarion,  "  for  it  was 
he  who  was  leading  me  to  execution,  when 
Cornelia  met  us  and  set  me  free.  He  believed 
me  guilty  and  must  hate  Cornelia  also  for 


284      Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

allowing  the  man  whom  he  helieves  to  be  the 
murderer  of  his  beloved  commander  Titus  to 
escape  his  vengeance.  Our  only  hope  is  in  his 
stupidity,  for  I  have  talked  with  him  and  he 
did  not  ap]3ear  to  remember  me." 

As  the  days  passed,  Asldetarion  became  con- 
vinced that  Florus,  who  was  now  an  old  man, 
was  losing  his  faculties,  for  though  he  was  con- 
stantly on  guard,  messengers  from  the  Prin- 
cess Flavia  came  and  went  without  detection. 

One  of  these,  Euphrosyne,  Cornelia's  former 
slave,  brought  the  best  of  news.  On  the  day 
of  the  execution,  Florus  had  stopped  her  and 
had  examined  the  lily  which  she  was  carrying 
to  Cornelia,  and  had  removed  the  phial  of  poi- 
son; her  mistress  would  therefore  live. 

Ho\)e  rose  once  more  in  the  breast  of 
Valerius.  He  laboured  incessantly  and  fever- 
ishly and  but  for  Askletarion's  insistence  would 
have  taken  no  food.  It  could  hardly  be  said 
that  either  of  them  slept,  though  Askletarion 
husbanded  the  strength  of  the  young  patri- 
cian wqth  the  care  of  a  mother.  There  was 
something  phenomenal  in  their  association,  for, 
although  each  worshipped  Cornelia  in  his  own 
way,  there  was  no  tinge  of  jealousy  in  their 
feelings.  Valerius  recognised  that  Askle- 
tarion's    devotion     was     not     love,     but     an 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  285 

all-consuming  gratitude,  a  self-obliterating 
loyalty  which  served  with  no  hope  of  reward 
other  than  the  rescue  which  was  the  immediate 
object  of  his  endeavour.  It  was  Askletarion's 
seemingly  perfect  confidence  that  each  stroke 
of  the  pickaxe  was  bringing  them  nearer  to 
the  goal  of  their  hearts'  desire  which  endowed 
Valerius  with  courage  and  endurance,  while  it 
was  only  the  steady  grinding  toil,  the  neces- 
sity for  stroke  upon  stroke,  that  kept  Askle- 
tarion  himself  from  insanity. 

On  the  fifth  day,  just  as  he  was  beginning 
to  feel  the  assurance  which  he  had  simulated, 
the  quick  ear  of  the  excavator  caught  muffled 
sounds,  which  caused  him  to  reel  backward  as 
though  mortally  wounded. 

Somewhere  in  the  immediate  vicinity  others 
were  digging.  It  Mas  hardly  possible  that 
another  rescue  party  was  at  work,  and  the 
alternative  that  a  countermine  was  being  pre- 
pared filled  him  with  the  deepest  apprehen- 
sion. If  he  could  hear  these  excavators,  then 
they  could  hear  him,  and  he  ceased  digging 
until  all  was  quiet.  At  midnight  his  worst 
fears  were  realised.  Under  his  cautious  blows 
a  large  quantity  of  loose  earth  was  dislodged, 
and  at  the  same  time  there  was  a  rattling  noise 
behind  him.     He  was  standing  in  a  trench  cut 


286       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

at  right  angles  to  his  tunnel  and  open  to  the 
sky,  and  when  he  attempted  to  retrace  his 
steps,  he  found  his  retreat  cut  off  by  an  iron 
grating,  which  had  descended  like  a  portcullis 
from  the  roof  of  his  tunnel. 

He  was  trapped,  and  blinded  by  the  glare 
of  a  torch  thrust  in  the  earth  at  the  farther 
edge  of  the  ditch.  A  low  mocking  laugh  came 
to  him  through  the  dazzling  brilliance  and  the 
voice  of  Florus  ordered  him  to  surrender. 
Askletarion  spread  his  hands  desparingly,  for 
his  only  weapon,  the  pick,  had  been  buried 
under  the  fall  of  earth. 

Florus  strode  nearer  and  regarded  him  with 
an  expression  of  grim  triumph. 

"  Nay,"  he  said,  "  do  not  climb  out  of  the 
ditch.  I  have  reasons  for  not  desiring  your 
nearer  company.  Yes,  it  is  I,  my  clever  sapper. 
Did  you  suppose  that  I  did  not  recognise 
you  and  Valerius,  and  comprehend  your 
scheme  from  the  first?  I  saw  you  behind 
the  casks  in  the  wine-cellar,  and  knew  when 
you  began  work.  I  understood  perfectly 
why  the  surprisingly  large  number  of  kegs 
rolled  in  each  morning  were  empty,  and 
those  rolled  out  were  heavy.  I  listened  to 
your  digging  and  gauged  exactly  its  pro- 
gress.    I  knew  when  to  profit  by  your  mid- 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  287 

day  rest  to  install  the  grating,  which  would 
fall  behind  you,  the  instant  that  you  cut 
through  into  this  ditch  which  intersects  your 
course.  I  calculated  the  time  at  which  this 
would  happen.  You  are  a  little  late,  for  I 
have  been  expecting  you  some  minutes." 

"If  you  knew  all  this,  why  did  you  not 
arrest  us  before?"  Askletarion  asked  bitterly; 
"was  it  to  play  with  us,  to  exhaust  our 
strength  and  dash  our  hopes?  I  warn  you 
that  you  will  not  capture  Valerius.  If  he  can- 
not escape  he  will  kill  himself  rather  than  fall 
into  the  power  of  Domitian." 

"  And  wisely,  but  listen  Askletarion,  I  have 
not  played  with  you.  Incredible  as  it  may 
seem  to  you,  I  am  your  friend.  I  led  you  out 
to  die  because  I  believed  that  you  were  the 
accomplice  of  that  siren  Berenice  in  the  mur- 
der of  the  only  man  I  have  ever  loved.  I  have 
changed  my  opinion  since  then,  and  believe 
that  if  the  Emperor  Titus  died  not  as  the 
physicians  say,  the  man  who  compassed  his 
death  was  the  one  who  most  profited  by  it. 
It  was  the  clear  insight  of  the  noble  woman 
in  this  grave,  who  dared  to  stand  by  her 
convictions,  that  set  me  to  thinking;  a  busi- 
ness to  which  I  am  not  accustomed.  I  have 
slain  too  many  innocent  people  in  my  time  by 


288       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

blindly  obeying  orders,  and  if  your  bungling 
work  had  not  been  discovered  by  others  and 
reported  to  Domitian,  I  would  have  allowed 
you  to  carry  out  your  scheme  as  you  planned 
it." 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  so  now  that  you  have 
foiled  us,"  Askletarion  replied  incredulously. 
"  I  have  little  cause  to  believe  in  your  friend- 
ship." 

"But  3^ou  shall  have  more.  The  Emperor 
commanded  me  to  surround  the  vault  with  a 
deep  trench:  I  have  had  it  dug  in  such  a  way 
as  to  shorten  your  work.  At  your  normal 
rate  of  progression,  as  I  reported,  you  would 
reach  the  vault  by  to-morrow  night  at  this 
time.  Observe: — the  crypt  is  not  in  the  centre 
of  the  space  surrounded  by  this  ditch,  on  the 
contrary,  the  trench  grazes  it  on  the  other  side, 
while  it  crosses  your  tunnel  here,  fully  twenty 
feet  from  the  tomb.  Now  raise  your  head  just 
sufficiently  to  look  over  the  Campus.  We  are 
entirely  alone.  I  have  stationed  the  guards  on 
the  outside  of  the  plain  beyond  the  reach  of 
our  voices.  As  long  as  you  remain  in  that 
trench,  you  are  invisible  to  any  one  on  the 
Campus.  Creep  around  in  it  to  this  side,  and 
you  will  see  that  an  hour's  digging  will  open 
the  vault.     I  will  haul  up  the  portcullis  and 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  289 

you  will  do  well  to  return  to  the  house  and 
brinff  vour  best  workmen  to  make  a  speedy 
end.  I  am  glad  that  I  encountered  you,  a 
man  willing  to  listen  to  reason,  and  not  that 
hot-headed  Valerius,  who  would  have  made  a 
noisy  onslaught  upon  me  and  have  ruined  all." 

Askletarion,  dazed  and  wondering,  obeyed 
the  instructions  of  Florus,  for  he  was  convinced 
of  his  sincerity,  though  not  until  long  after- 
ward did  he  fully  understand  that  from  the 
moment  that  Cornelia  had  crossed  his  path 
like  an  angel  of  light  Florus  had  received  a 
revelation  of  the  dignity,  the  intrepidity,  and 
the  disinterestedness  of  which  a  woman  could 
be  capable,  and  had  devoted  his  life  to  her 
defence. 

He  it  was  who  had  been  her  providence, 
correcting  the  mistakes  of  her  rescuers,  influ- 
encing the  Emperor  to  assign  to  him  the  post 
of  captain  of  the  guard,  removing  the  poison 
and  the  despairing  letter  of  Valerius  from  the 
heart  of  the  lily  and  substituting  an  assurance 
of  rescue. 

He  had  done  even  more,  for  on  discovering 
the  ventilating  pipe,  he  had  put  it  to  uses  never 
imagined  by  Askletarion,  uncovering  it  each 
night  and  using  it  as  a  speaking  tube  through 
which  he  conversed  with  Cornelia,  keeping  up 
19 


290       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

her  courage  through  the  days  of  waiting,  and 
sustaining  her  physical  strength  by  pouring 
through  it  broth  and  wine. 

As  Valerius  stumbled  into  the  glare  of  the 
torch,  he  greeted  Florus  with  incoherent 
thanks,  but  added,  "  It  is  too  good  to  be  true ; 
something  tells  me  that  in  spite  of  all  your 
kindness  we  shall  not  find  her  alive." 

For  answer,  Florus  bade  him  place  his  ear 
to  the  pipe.  Faint  but  clear  fluttered  the 
answer  to  his  agonised  call. 

"Valerius,  is  it  thou?  I  thank  the  gods 
that  thou  hast  come  in  time,  for  I  am  nearly 
spent." 

With  trembling  hands  they  tore  away  the 
stones  and  found  her  lying  with  a  smile  upon 
her  lips — but  with  closed  eyes — ^unconscious 
of  their  presence. 

"  She  is  dying,"  cried  Valerius,  "  she  has 
gone.  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  am  I  then  too 
late?" 

"  No,"  answered  Florus,  "  lift  her  out  into 
the  open  air.  Here  is  water.  There,  she  is 
reviving.  Carry  her  quickly  through  the 
tunnel  to  the  house,  but  do  not  leave  it 
until  I  replace  the  guard  on  the  Via 
Nomentana." 

A  half -hour  later  Florus  entered  the  wine- 


The  Nameless  Pedestal  291 

shop.     "How    is    the    Lady    Cornelia?"    he 
asked  eagerly. 

"  Still  too  weak  to  walk,"  Valerius  replied. 
"  My  yacht  is  waiting  at  Porto  to  take  us  to 
Sicily,  but  how  can  I  remove  her  until  she  is 
stronger? — and  every  moment  is  precious." 

"  I  have  provided  for  that,"  Florus  replied. 
"  The  htter  of  the  Princess  Flavia  with  her 
four  Nubian  bearers  is  waiting  outside  the 
Nomentan  gate.  I  will  summon  it  to  the 
door  and  will  lend  Valerius  a  horse  and  myself 
escort  you  to  the  Villa  Amaranthiana.  No  more 
shall  it  be  known  by  us  as  the  Villa  of  Unhappy 
Love,  for  the  Princess  hopes  to  persuade  you 
to  be  wedded  by  her  husband,  since  Clemens 
is  a  bishop  of  the  Christian  religion.  In  your 
Sicilian  refuge,  think  of  Florus,  and  suffer  me 
now  to  kiss  the  hem  of  Cornelia's  robe,  for  she 
has  taught  me  the  possibility  of  goodness." 

Later  Florus  reported  to  the  Emperor  that 
the  attempt  at  rescue  had  failed,  the  excavators 
having  abandoned  their  enterprise  on  reach- 
ing the  ditch  which  intersected  their  tunnel. 
The  wall  of  the  tomb  had  been  so  cleverly 
mended  that  no  suspicion  of  its  having  been 
broken  into  was  aroused.  The  ventilating  ap- 
paratus having  been  removed,  it  was  the  uni- 
versal opinion  that  Cornelia  must  have  perished 


292       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

several  days  previously,  and  the  vault  was  not 
even  opened  to  verify  this  conclusion. 

As  for  Florus,  his  reputation  is  still  un- 
shaken as  having  been,  with  no  redeeming  in- 
stance in  his  career,  the  most  brutal  and,  next 
to  Domitian,  the  most  merciless  monster  of 
his  time. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  DOG   OF   BRITAIN 


WHICH  TREATS  OF  DRUIDS  AND  DRYADS  AND  LOVE  ^NEATH 
THE    QUICKEN    TREES 


I  laid  the  hero  in  the  hollow  rock  at  the  roar  of 
the  mighty  stream.  There,  near  the  broken  shield, 
lay  hairy  Bran,  the  white-breasted  dog  of  Fillan. 
No  blast  came  over  the  heath  known  to  bounding 
Bran.  He  had  missed  the  chief  and  searched  him 
along  the  wind.  Green  thorn-tree  of  the  hill  of 
ghosts,  heard  he  the  spirits'  wind  skirts  rustling 
in  thy  leaves? 

He  thought  the  hunter  slept,  winds  lifted  at  times 
his  locks.  Pleasant  from  the  way  of  the  desert  the 
voice  of  music  came.  It  seemed  at  first  the  noise 
of  a  stream  far  distant  upon  the  rock.  It  was 
the  voice  of  the  bard  and  the  trembling  harp. 
Thev  came  with  blue-eved  Ferad  Artho.  Gladness 
rose  like  beams  on  a  cloudy  day.  White-breasted 
Bran  bounded  for  joy.     He  came  but  looked  back- 

293 


294       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

ward  to  the  cave  where  the  hero  lay,  for  he,  too, 
was  wont  to  stride  at  morn  to  the  dewy  bed  of 
the  roe. 

With  morning  lead  Ferad  Artho  to  the  echoing 
hall  of  the  Kings  of  Erin,  but  let  not  the  fallen  be 
forgotten,  they  that  were  mighty,  the  stately  forms 
of  old. 

OSSIAN. 

P  ERAD  ARTHO  am  I,  son  of  the  mur- 
*  dered  Cormac,  High  King  of  Erin. 
O'er  young  to  reign  I  was  when  my  father's 
cousin,  Fingal,  King  of  the  Gaels,  chastised 
the  chiefs  who  did  the  black  deed,  so  that  Fin- 
gal took  me  with  him  to  Morven  to  be  bred 
up  as  his  foster  son,  until  the  time  of  times 
should  call  me  to  my  own. 

Sad  was  the  heart  of  Fingal,  for  Fillan,  his 
youngest  son,  who  fell  in  Erin,  fighting  my 
battle,  but  when  it  was  told  the  King  that 
faithful  Bran  (Fillan's  great  deerhound,  who 
found  the  body  of  his  master  on  the  red  field 
of  battle,  and  would  neither  be  beaten  nor 
tempted  by  food  from  his  grave) ,  that  Bran 
of  the  human  heart  had  leapt  upon  me  when 
I  called  him,  licking  the  tears  from  my  cheeks, 
and  had  followed  me  ever  after  as  though  I 
had  been  Fillan  himself, — then  I  say  Fingal 
also  took  me  to  his  heart  in  the  stead  of  his 


A  Dog  of  Britain  295 

slain  son,  and  brought  me  to  his  own  king- 
dom— in  the  high  hills  beyond  the  hand- 
fashioned  cliff  of  the  Romans. 

Here  Ossian,  the  oldest  son  of  Fingal, 
taught  me  the  lore  of  the  bards  and  to  pluck 
the  cords  of  the  harp  in  such  wise  that  the 
heart-strings  of  my  hearers  thrilled  with  their 
twanging.  Here  grew  I  apace,  but  though 
I  followed  the  deer  with  Bran  (and  never 
huntsman  was  hardier  or  more  reckless) ,  never 
was  I  bidden  to  follow  the  King  among  the 
fens,  where  were  the  barbarous  Picts,  or  to 
join  him  in  the  forays  which  he  made  into 
the  lowlands  up  to  the  very  wall  of  the 
Romans. 

"  Bide,"  he  would  say,  "  a  little  longer  with 
Tv^hite-bosomed  Clautho,  mourning  mother  of 
Fillan,  and  comfort  her  for  her  son  that  is 
not;  bide  in  patience,  for  thy  time  will  come." 

It  came  at  length  in  that  year  of  years, 
which  the  Culdees  count  the  two  hundred  and 
eleventh  from  the  death  of  their  god  Chriosd, 
when  the  Roman  Emperor,^  not  content  with 
having  subdued  the  Britons  in  the  south  coun- 
try of  Albion,  sent  his  marauding  legions  into 
the  heart  of  the  Highlands  of  the  Gaels. 
Then  was  the  war-song  heard  in  Morven,  and 

1  Septimius  Severus. 


296       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


the  horns  were  blown  for  the  gathering  of  the 
clans.  Even  then,  Fingal  took  me  not  with 
him  to  meet  the  Romans  on  the  banks  of  the 
Carun.  But  when  he  returned,  heavy  with 
spoil  from  the  defeat  of  Caracul,  son  of  the 
Emperor,  and  I  would  not  join  in  the  feast, 
but  sat  apart  sullen  and  silent,  he  perceived 
that  my  heart  was  hot  within  me,  claiming  the 
hero's  birthright  to  danger, — to  the  clang  of 
the  sharp-pointed  spear  on  the  dinted  shield,  to 
scars  on  the  breast,  and,  if  needs  be,  to  death. 

"  Youth  of  the  prideful  heart,"  he  cried  to 
me,  "  here  is  thy  portion  from  the  battle,  a 
Roman  poniard  whose  handle  is  red  with 
rubies,  and  whose  blade  with  the  red  rust  of 
Gaelic  blood,  for  it  was  drawn  from  the  heart 
of  one  of  our  warriors,  where  it  was  sheathed 
by  car-borne  Caracul.  Take  thou  the  dagger, 
and  wash  off  the  stain  in  the  blood  of  a 
Roman." 

Then  was  I  glad  and  I  sang  a  song  of  the 
glaive,  thirsty  for  blood  as  the  white  fangs  of 
a  starving  wolf.  When  I  had  ended  and  the 
warriors  had  clashed  their  shields  in  noisy  ap- 
proval, Fingal  swore  that  mine  should  be  the 
next  enterprise  that  called  for  a  chieftain  of 
JNIorven,  be  the  adventure  what  it  might.  As 
he  spake,  the  warden's  bell  clanged  and  there 


A  Dog  of  Britain  297 

was  ushered  in  an  aged  man  whose  ell-long 
beard  lay  upon  his  breast  like  drifted  snow. 
His  habit  was  all  of  white,  on  his  head  was  a 
chaplet  of  oak-leaves;  he  wore  also  the  golden 
armlet  of  his  order,  and  his  eyes  burned  deep 
in  their  sockets  like  fires  in  far  caverns.  It 
was  the  Arch-Druid,  Duach,  who  lived  in 
mystery,  hiding,  none  knew  where,  since  the 
Romans  drave  his  people  from  Innis-nan- 
Dhruid,  that  is  nowlona,  whom  Fingal  greeted 
as  though  he  were  a  bidden  guest,  and  not 
till  he  had  feasted  did  the  King  demand  his 
errand. 

"  Son  of  the  sword,"  said  Duach,  "  thou 
hast  fought  well  in  Erin  and  in  Alba ;  but  the 
times  are  not  yet  for  peace,  while  the  eagles 
of  the  Romans  glut  themselves  with  the  tribute 
of  Albion.  I  have  heard  a  voice  in  the  south 
as  of  the  muttering  of  a  gathering  storm;  it 
is  the  voice  of  ghosts  and  of  their  queen  Boadi- 
cea  calling  to  her  people  to  drive  the  invader 
from  her  land." 

Fingal  laughed.  "  Surely,"  he  said,  "  the 
voice  you  heard  is  none  other  than  the  voice 
of  the  dead,  as  the  wind  rustling  the  stalks 
in  a  field  of  corn.  Not  for  the  wind  will  the 
corn  budge  from  its  place  and  throw  itself 
upon    the    enemy.      The    Britons    have    ac- 


298       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

cepted  joyfully  their  slavery.  Caerleon  on 
Usk,  Caerleon,  the  ancient,  they  name  now 
the  City  of  the  Legions.  There  have  the 
Romans  built  baths  (teaching  the  degenerate 
Britons  to  wash  away  their  courage  in  steam- 
ing waters),  and  luxury-pandering  theatres, 
and  fields  for  sports.  Speak  not  to  me  of 
the  muttering  of  storms  of  the  south  land.  I 
tell  you  that  your  ancient  ears  deceive  you — 
'tis  but  the  idle  chirping  of  the  crickets  in 
the  dry  grass." 

The  withered  cheek  of  the  Druid  flushed. 
"  In  secret,  O  Fingal,  many  of  the  Britons 
chafe  under  the  rule  of  the  stranger  and  wait 
impatiently  for  the  signal  which  shall  bid  them 
rally  to  the  standard  of  the  Princess  ]Morna, 
last  of  the  hne  of  Boadicea.  The  chiefs  have 
met,  and  have  sworn  that  as  the  maid  is  now 
of  marriageable  age,  she  shall  wed  a  man, 
who,  when  the  time  is  ripe,  shall  lead  a  revolt 
in  which  thej^  will  throw  off  the  yoke  of  the 
Romans,  and  whom  they  will  cro^\Ti  King. 
For  them  I  consulted  the  auguries;  the  birds 
flew  north,  the  wind  guided  the  fingers  of 
the  whispering  trees  till  they  pointed  north- 
ward; and  when  I  wiped  the  blood  of  the 
sacrifice  from  my  hand  upon  the  grass,  its 
juices  staining  my  fingers  still  further,  I  drew 


A  Dog  of  Britain  299 

them  twice  across  my  robe  and  there  appeared 
a  tartan,  white,  plaided  with  red  and  green. 
Then  was  I  ware  by  those  tints  that  he  who 
should  wed  our  princess  was  destined  to  found 
a  united  kingdom — white  for  Albion,  red  for 
the  Highlands  of  the  Gael,  and  green  for 
Erin.  So  expounded  I  that  symbol,  and  the 
chiefs  cried  with  one  voice,  "  Fingal  hath  con- 
quered Ireland  and  rules  the  north-land.  A 
son  of  Fingal  shall  be  our  King,  and  King 
also  of  all  Britain.  So  shall  its  people  be 
bound  together  and  utterly  exterminate  the 
Romans." 

The  eye  of  Fingal  kindled  as  he  listened  to 
these  words,  and  he  looked  upon  his  sons  with 
pride,  but  Ossian  and  Ryno  were  wedded  and 
Fergus  loved  in  secret,  and  refused  the  prof- 
fered alliance.  Then  Fingal  turned  to  me. 
"  There  remains,"  said  he,  "  no  son  of  my 
body,  but  thou,  Ferad  Artho,  art  son  of  my 
heart,  and  to  thee,  if  descendants  of  mine 
should  fail,  would  the  sovereignty  of  Alba  fall, 
since  thou,  the  son  of  my  cousin  Cormac,  art 
next  of  kin.  To  thee  also  belongs  by  inherit- 
ance the  kingship  of  Erin,  therefore  in  thee 
are  all  conditions  fulfilled,  and  the  adventure, 
by  the  oath  I  sware  as  Duach  entered  hall,  is 
thine  also.     Follow  the  Druid,  and  when  thou 


300       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

hast  won  thy  queen,  if  so  be  there  is  fighting 
to  be  done  to  win  thy  crown,  I  and  my  sons 
will  fight  for  thee,  in  Albion  even  as  we  fought 
in  Erin." 

Then  spake  I  for  myself.  "  I  will  go  with 
thee,  O  Druid,  to  the  Princess,  but  not  as  one 
whom  she  must  perforce  accept  as  her  husband 
will  I  approach  the  maid.  Not  so  doth  love 
blossom  between  man  and  woman,  and  not  for 
policy  or  statecraft  should  they  be  wed.  If 
so  be  that  my  heart  yearns  to  her  and  if  she, 
not  knowing  that  I  am  a  prince,  but  believing 
me  a  wandering  harper  to  whom  thou  givest 
shelter,  will  have  me  for  love  alone, — then  well 
and  good;  but  if  otherwise  the  matter  fall, 
then  hither  wifeless  and  crownless  do  I  return." 

Then  Duach  looked  at  me  kindly  but  sor- 
rowfully. "  I  love  thee  for  that  word,"  quoth 
he,  "  but  it  is  a  hard  test  for  a  maid  whose 
heart  is  a  house  of  pride." 

"  Where  all  these  years  have  you  kept 
hidden  the  Princess?"  Fingal  asked,  "and 
whither  would  you  lead  this  son  of  my  adop- 
tion, even  Ferad  Artho  Mac  Finn? " 

"  Long  have  we  lived  unknown,"  Duach 
made  answer,  "  in  a  grianan  [cottage]  be- 
neath the  ivy-covered  walls  of  the  ancient 
castle  of  Pendragon,  from  whose  windows  the 


A  Dog  of  Britain  301 

fox  looks  forth  and  whose  battlements  are 
sentried  by  the  ravens.  But  when  the  mis- 
tletoe is  white,  must  I  take  this  prince  and  her 
also  to  the  chiefest  city  of  the  enemy,  even 
Caerleon  upon  Usk,  for  it  is  there  at  the  first 
snow-fall  that  the  next  council  of  our  chiefs 
will  be  held.  There  and  then,  if  the  wooing 
speeds,  shall  these  twain  be  crowned  King  and 
Queen  of  Britain." 

"  So  shall  it  be,"  said  Fingal,  and  as  we 
passed  from  Morven,  the  pipers  played  an  old 
lilt,  "  Avibheneas  a  Shlighe,"  "  the  joy  of  his 
way,"  a  march  to  which  the  Highland  bride- 
grooms are  wont  to  stride  forth  to  fetch  home 
their  brides. 

I  remember  also  that  Bran  came  bounding 
after  me  and  that  I  stoned  him  back  with  harsh 
words,  and  the  last  sight  I  had  of  the  castle 
showed  him  looking  reproachfully  after  me 
at  the  gate. 

I  went  habited  in  simple  green,  with  my 
harp  slung  upon  my  shoulder, — though  Fin- 
gal had  mounted  us  on  good  Highland  ponies 
that  carried  us  blithely  on  our  way.  Some- 
whiles  me  seemed  that  I  heard  a  crashing 
of  boughs  in  the  thicket  which  bordered 
the  highway,  and  the  first  night,  as  we 
lay  in  camp,  Duach  waked  me,   saying  that 


302       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

t 
he    spied   the   form   of   a   werwolf    skulking  | 

in  the  shadows.     I  threw  firebrands  whither  | 

he  pointed  and  heard  the  patter  of  flee- 
ing feet.  Naught  saw  we  of  strange  fear- 
someness  thereafter,  but  as  we  strode  to  the 
birlinn  at  the  Haven  of  the  Foray,  a  dog,  lean 
and  panting,  his  shaggy  coat  matted  with  burrs 
and  briars,  his  white  ruff  grey  with  dust,  his 
paws  swollen  with  deep-bedded  thorns,  red- 
eyed,  and  with  tongue  lolling  for  thirst,  leapt 
upon  me,  barking  his  heart  out  for  very  joy. 
After  that  we  suffered  Bran,  and  he  went  with 
us  unhindered  till  we  came  to  the  sweet  garth 
where  apple-trees  nestled  under  the  high- 
towering  keep  of  the  castle.  A  fair  maid 
stood  in  the  door  of  the  house,  and  Bran  ran 
to  her,  as  he  had  run  to  me  from  the  grave  of 
Fillan,  fawning  at  her  feet.  Then  the  maid 
stooped  over  him,  crying,  "  Oh,  the  glorious 
creature! "  and  her  arms  were  round  his  neck 
and  his  shaggy  head  was  pillowed,  where  mine 
would  fain  have  been,  upon  her  gentle  breast. 
She  loved  my  dog  at  sight,  and  so  also, — 
though  I  came  as  a  gillie  with  no  marks  of 
wealth  or  rank, —  I  believe  she  loved  me.  For 
a  blossom-time  and  a  fruit-time  I  tended  the 
cows  and  the  sheep,  and  Bran  took  to  himself 
as   mate   a   gold-and-white-pelted   collie,   and 


A  Dog  of  Britain  303 

contrary  to  his  nature  folded  the  lambs  at 
night,  and  Morna  beat  the  cream  in  the  cool 
spring-house  or  spun  at  her  singing  wheel  un- 
der the  orchard  trees.  And  as  the  autumn 
mellowed  the  apples,  her  cheeks  glowed  as 
rosily  as  theirs  when  our  hands  would  meet, 
as  we  stroked  Bran  in  playful  rivaliy  for  his 
allegiance,  and  she  withdrew  not  hers  when 
I  clasped  it  under  cover  of  his  long  hair.  I 
played  to  her  upon  my  harp  also,  and  sang 
her  the  old  runes  of  the  lochs,  the  secret  of 
the  unrest  that  is  in  the  waves ;  the  rune  of  the 
white  merle  which  sang  the  joy  of  pain  and 
the  pain  of  joy,  and  the  rune  of  the  green 
trees  that  yearn  toward  one  another  in  the 
time  of  their  blossoming.  "  Know  you  the 
secret  speech  of  the  quicken  trees?"  I  asked. 

"  They  need  no  speech,"  she  answered,  "  for 
they  understand  without  it,  and  so  do  those 
who  love." 

Then  as  I  clasped  her  to  my  heart,  I 
chanced  to  look  upward  and  saw  the  mistletoe, 
white  as  flakes  of  snow,  in  the  orchard  trees, 
and  I  knew  that  my  wooing  was  ended.  The 
mistletoe  grew  on  the  gnarled  branches  of  an 
apple-tree  which  stretched  its  lichen-covered 
arms  far  out  over  a  pool,  called  the  Dragon's 
Pen. 


304       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"Lift  me  to  that  branch,"  Morna  com- 
manded, "  for  she  who  gathers  the  first  mis- 
tletoe of  the  season,  gathers  with  it  great 
fortune." 

I  obeyed,  but,  "  Be  careful,"  I  cried,  and 
even  as  I  spoke,  the  rotten  branch  brake  and 
my  darling  fell  into  the  pool.  Out  of  sight  she 
sank  like  a  stone,  and  I,  leaping  after  her,  went 
down,  down,  as  it  seemed  to  me  fathoms  deep 
till  I  found  her  and  rose  with  her  to  the  sur- 
face. It  was  Bran  after  all,  who  saved  us  both, 
attracting  Duach  to  the  spot  by  his  frenzied 
barking,  for  I  was  chilled  to  the  bone  by  the 
ice-cold  water  and  could  not  have  climbed 
from  the  pool,  but  with  his  help.  ISIorna,  when 
she  had  recovered,  told  of  a  strange  dream  or 
glamour  she  had  had  beneath  the  water.  She 
fancied  that  her  fingers  had  grasped  a  jew- 
elled diadem  and  insisted  that  she  had  brought 
it  to  the  surface  with  her,  though  there 
was  naught  in  her  hand  but  the  spray  of 
mistletoe. 

Then  Duach  said  gravely:  "  It  is  a  portent," 
and  he  told  her  the  truth,  both  her  own  rank 
and  mine,  and  how  we  were  now  for  journey- 
ing to  Caerleon  where  a  great  destiny  awaited 
her ;  and  JNIorna  was  as  one  transformed.  She 
ran  to  a  cedarn  chest  wherein  were  woman's 


A  Dog  of  Britain  305 

finery  of  silk  and  golden  tissue  and  jewels, 
which  were  her  mother's,  and  when  she  had 
robed  herself  in  them  the  maid  of  the  orchard- 
dairy  had  vanished,  and  she  stood  a  princess. 
But  even  in  that  hour  my  heart  misgave  me, 
and  more  when  I  came  to  Caerleon  and  saw  its 
magnificence,  a  Roman  city  with  baths  and 
theatres  and  fair  white  temples  columned  in 
marble  and  the  great  Praetorium  with  its  garri- 
son crowning  the  hill.  Nor  could  I  distinguish 
Britons  from  Romans,  for  all  wore  the  toga 
and  spake  Latin,  for  the  youths  were  in- 
structed at  lyceums,  and  arts  and  law  and 
courtesy  made  life  more  agreeable  than  I  had 
ever  known  it.  jNIoma  was  bewitched  and 
declared  openly  that  Agricola  in  conquering 
Britain  had  conferred  a  benefit  upon  its  in- 
habitants, that  never  under  our  own  rule  could 
we  have  attained  to  such  civility  and  happiness. 
But  Duach  reproved  and  contradicted  her, 
asserting  that  the  Romans  twice  enslaved  the 
Britons,  first  by  force  and  again  by  enervating 
luxurj^  which  sapped  their  virtue  and  their 
valour,  and  that  Geta,  the  gentle  younger  son 
of  the  Emperor,  who  governed  in  the  south, 
had  destroyed  the  souls  of  men,  while  the  cruel 
Caracalla,  who  waged  war  in  Caledonia,  had 
kept  valour  and  patriotism  alive. 


I, 


306       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

To  all  this,  Morna  replied  but  by  lifting  her 
eyebrows,  and  even  I  was  shaken  between  two  .1 

opinions. 

Duach  had  taken  a  fair  house,  and  to  silence 
all  suspicion  we  mingled  openly  with  the  towns- 
people, both  Britons  and  Romans,  giving  out 
that  Duach  was  a  leech  and  compounder  of 
simples  of  marvellous  efficacy,  which  was  in- 
deed the  truth.  JMany  cures  he  effected  and 
many  out-patients  he  had  among  the  Romans 
of  the  city,  but  on  one  excuse  or  another,  none 
would  we  admit  within  the  house,  until  the 
day  of  evil  chance  brought  to  the  door  the 
cause  of  all  my  sorrows. 

It  chanced  that  I  was  returning  with  Duach 
from  the  Forum  when  we  were  caught  in  a 
great  avalanche  of  people  which  streamed 
forth  from  the  amphitheatre.  Some  wore  blue 
badges,  but  the  greater  part  red,  and  all 
shouted  excitedly,  but  with  such  confusion 
that,  though  I  had  been  instructed  in  the 
Latin  tongue,  I  could  make  naught  of  the 
cries. 

Of  a  sudden,  a  chariot  broken  and  empty, 
drawn  by  black  horses,  wild-eyed,  snorting, 
and  foam-flecked,  conducted  by  grooms  in  blue 
livery,  who  held  the  steeds  by  their  golden 
bits,  passed  us  so  nearly  that  I  would  have 


A  Dog  of  Britain  307 

been   trampled   had   not   Duach   caught   me 

aside. 

"I  had  forgotten,"  he  said,  "that  this  is 
the  day  of  the  sports.  It  was  announced  that 
the  two  sons  of  the  Emperor  would  race 
against  each  other.  That  is  the  chariot  of 
Caracalla,  the  elder  of  the  princes.  He  has 
met  with  some  mischance.  Andrasta  grant 
that  his  evil  neck  is  broken." 

"Nay,  Duach,"  said  one  of  the  towns- 
people, who  had  heard  that  daring  prayer,  "  no 
such  luck,— 't  is  but  his  thigh,  and  they  have 
borne  him  to  thy  house." 

"To  my  house!"  the  Druid  exclaimed, 
scowling. 

"  Where  else,  since  thou  art  our  most 
famous  leech,  and  Galen  and  the  most  expert 
of  the  Roman  surgeons  have  been  summoned 
to  Eboracum  to  wait  upon  the  Emperor  who 
is  sick  unto  the  death?  " 

Strange  and  dark  were  the  emotions  which 
warred  in  the  soul  of  Duach  as  he  hastened  to 
his  dwelling.  The  scarlet  chariot  of  Geta, 
drawn  by  white  horses  with  red  trappings, 
stood  before  the  door,  for  the  Prince  had 
himself  borne  his  wounded  brother  to  the 
house  of  the  physician.  The  crowd  made 
way,  recognising  Duach,  and  the  gates  flew 


3o8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

open    as    he    rapped    upon    them    with    his 
staff. 

We  crossed  the  atrium  guided  by  the  cries 
and  curses  of  Caracalla  to  an  inner  room.  In 
the  presence  of  the  wounded  man  everj^  pas- 
sion save  that  of  the  healer  left  the  mind  of 
Duach.  Deftly  he  felt  the  limb  with  wizard 
fingers  that  saw  the  bones  hidden  beneath  the 
flesh  and  the  very  marrow  hidden  within  the 
bones. 

"  The  thigh  is  not  broken,"  he  said,  "  but 
removed  out  of  its  socket.  Morna,  take  thou 
the  man's  head  upon  thy  knees  and  cover  his 
eyes  with  thy  hands.  Prince  Geta,  do  thou 
and  this  groom  hold  each  an  arm.  Ferad 
Artho,  take  the  leg  in  thy  hands,  and  when  I 
bid  thee,  pull  with  all  thy  might  and  spare 
not." 

Unquestioning  we  obeyed  him  though  Cara- 
calla shrieked  Math  agony,  and  when  our  w^ork 
was  done  a  faintness  came  over  him  and  he 
lay  as  one  dead.  But  when  his  eyes  opened 
they  rested  upon  the  pitying  face  of  the  girl 
whose  cool  hands  stroked  the  close  curling  hair 
and  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face ;  and  as  she 
gently  strove  to  lay  his  head  upon  a  pillow, 
he  caught  her  arm  and  muttered  hoarsely, 
"  Stav." 


A  Dog  of  Britain  309 

Her  eyes  raised  to  Duach  were  troubled, 
but  he  whispered,  "  I  go  to  prepare  a  sleep- 
ing draught  of  mandrake.  Suffer  him  for  a 
moment  longer." 

So  she  sat  rigid,  striving  only  to  unlock  his 
fingers  which  clutched  talon-wise  the  soft 
flesh.  With  the  sight  of  the  loathing  of  her 
face,  Prince  Geta  sprang  to  her  side,  "  You 
hurt  the  maid,"  he  cried  to  his  brother,  "  loose 
her  arm  if  you  would  have  her  tendance." 

"And  who  are  you,  to  give  me  orders?" 
the  other  asked.  "  I  will  hurt  her  as  it  please 
me,  and  you  also,  if  you  come  between  me 
and  my  pleasure." 

His  hot  face  wallowed  where  it  lay,  and 
INIorna  with  a  cry  thrust  it  from  her  upon  the 
pillow,  springing  to  her  feet  white  and 
trembling. 

Then  Caracalla,  unheedful  of  his  hurt, 
strove  to  rise,  but  fell  back  limp  with  pain, 
cursing  impotent^,  and  Duach  holding  a  cup 
to  his  lips,  he  drank  and  slept. 

Meanwhile  Geta,  bowing  low  before  Morna, 
prayed  her  not  to  hold  him  guilty  for  the 
brutality  of  his  brother  and  vowed  that  he 
would  protect  her  from  further  violence. 
Then  with  a  grave  manner  which  ill-befitted 
the   seeming   levity  of   the   question,    for   we 


310       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

knew  not  then  its  import,  he  asked  of  Duach, 
"  Have  you,  good  sir,  ever  carved  chessmen?  " 

Duach  was  angered.  "  I  carve  kings,"  he 
cried,  "  and  yon  damsel  needs  not  other  pro- 
tection than  my  own,"  and  so  dismissed  that 
gentle  Prince  with  less  courtesy  than  he 
deserved. 

Had  Duach  known  Caracalla  for  the  vil- 
lain he  was,  he  might  have  forgotten  all  sense 
of  honour  and  have  poisoned  him  as  he  lay  in 
his  power  instead  of  restoring  him  to  the  exer- 
cise of  his  deviltries.  But  this  was  not  our 
way,  and  so  though  Morna  saw  him  no  more 
Duach  healed  him  of  his  hurt,  and  as  a  post 
arrived  requiring  the  presence  of  the  princes 
at  the  bedside  of  their  father,  he  contrived  for 
him,  before  he  could  take  the  saddle  or  en- 
dure the  jolting  of  a  chariot,  a  swinging  litter 
whereby  he  was  conveyed  by  bearers  to 
Eboracum. 

But  the  younger  son  of  the  Emperor  went 
not  for  a  little  space.  Each  day  he  came  to 
us  and  talked  with  Duach  of  the  conduct  of 
the  kingdom  and  how  it  was  his  desire  to  re- 
concile the  Britons  to  the  rule  of  the  Romans, 
to  teach  them  the  arts  of  peace,  to  protect  them 
by  the  great  wall  from  the  incursions  of  the 
northern  heathen,  and  to  do  all  for  their  good 


A  Dog  of  Britain  311 

so  that  in  future  ages  his  memory  should  be 
loved.  Duach,  though  he  looked  at  him 
askance,  felt  his  heart  vearn  to  the  noble 
youth  and  I,  though  I  soon  knew  him  for  a 
rival,  felt  him  a  worthy  one. 

Moma,  as  I  have  already  said,  from  the 
time  that  she  was  plunged  in  the  fairy  pool, 
was  strangely  changed.  To  my  grief  she  de- 
nied that  she  had  ever  promised  to  wed  me. 
All  her  pleasure  seemed  to  be  in  the  brilliant 
spectacles  and  the  gay  sporting  of  the  wealthy 
and  the  giddy.  To  this  society  she  was  wel- 
comed, for  though  Duach  had  revealed  the 
secret  of  her  rank  only  to  the  trustworthy 
among  the  Britons,  yet  it  was  not  a  part  of 
his  policy  to  hide  her  longer  from  public  view, 
but  rather  to  provoke  curiosity  concerning  her 
by  flaunting  a  mystery,  like  the  flair  of  some 
lordly  game  in  the  noses  of  the  hounds  of 
chase.  But  to  my  dismay,  I  perceived  that 
while  I  believed  she  loved  me  before  our  be- 
trothal, she  did  so  no  longer. 

I  reproached  her  not  but  waited  sorrow- 
fully, trusting  that  in  time  she  would  under- 
stand the  vanity  of  the  things  which  were  now 
her  joy.  All  unwitting  was  I  that  there  was 
another  influence  more  subtle  than  the  love 
of  luxury  and  pomp,   more  dangerous  than 


312       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Caracalla's  evil  passion,  which  was  drawing  the 
one  I  loved  to  the  catastrophe  of  her  life. 
]More  harmful  w^as  it  because,  as  she  well  knew, 
it  was  a  thing  good  in  itself,  the  love  of  a 
true  man,  even  Prince  Geta,  who  w^ould  have 
died  rather  than  have  wrought  her  pain.  He 
met  her  more  frequently  than  w^e  knew,  for  we 
were  often  from  home  at  secret  meetings  of 
the  rebellious  chieftains,  which  were  held  for 
the  most  part  at  the  castle  of  Abersychan, 
not  far  distant  from  Caerleon. 

]Much  trouble  had  we  with  these  hot-headed 
savages,  for  they  were  not  of  one  mind, 
and  jealous  and  quarrelsome  beyond  be- 
lief. 

My  heart  was  on  fire  for  liberty  and  for 
union  against  the  foreign  invader.  Like  Gal- 
gacus  who  led  the  revolt  against  the  Romans 
when  Agricola  w^as  governor  of  Britain  I 
strove  by  all  arguments  to  rouse  them  against 
the  plunderers  who  were  exhausting  our  re- 
sources by  tributes  and  levying  troops  from 
our  bravest  to  serve  in  distant  lands,  or  to 
labour  in  clearing  woods,  in  building  roads 
and  fortifications,  to  delve  in  the  mines  and 
serve  in  everj^  form  of  slavery.  With  all  the 
eloquence  I  could  muster,  I  pled  with  them 
for  the  sake  of  their  ancestors,  for  the  wives 


A  Dog  of  Britain  313 

they  loved,  and  for  the  future  of  their  child- 
ren to  throw  off  the  hateful  yoke. 

My  oratory  failed  not  on  a  certain  day  of 
its  effect,  for  the  chiefs  testified  their  ap- 
plause with  yells  and  dissonant  clashing  of 
shields. 

All  acknowledged  that  the  consort  of 
Morna,  who  was  the  daughter  of  Ludd  (who 
gave  his  name  to  the  chief  city  of  Britain, 
for  Ludd's  dun  [London]  it  is  called  to  this 
day),  had  the  chiefest  right  to  reign.  But 
they  were  by  no  means  of  accord  that  I  should 
be  her  consort,  many  an  one  desiring  that 
honour  for  himself.  Among  these  were  Man- 
ogan,  brother-in-law  of  Mathol,  who  had 
usurped  my  kingdom  of  Erin,  and  Nudd  and 
Ivaw  and  Llyr  and  the  great  Earl  of  Corn- 
wall and  Caradawc  also.  Kadgyffro,  Clydno, 
and  Erbin  each  desired  the  kingship.  Gra- 
thach  and  Nerthach,  brothers  of  Duach,  were 
children  of  hell,  and  envying  Duach's  chief- 
Druidship,  they  fomented  more  discord, 
insisting  that  ^lorna's  consort  should  be  de- 
termined by  lot. 

But  Duach  overcame  this  counsel,  claiming 
Morna's  right  to  make  choice  of  her  own  hus- 
band,— and  to  this  the  chieftains  finally 
agreed,  despatching  me  to  Caerleon,  to  fetch 


314       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Morna  on  the  morrow  to  the  assembly  to  de- 
clare her  favourite  and  our  king.  Victory 
gleamed  in  the  eyes  of  Duach  as  he  adminis- 
tered to  us  the  oath  of  allegiance  that  despite 
of  all  personal  disappointment  we  would  loy- 
ally abide  her  decision,  and  so  he  sent  me  on 
my  evil  quest,  and  that  which  was  ordained 
came  to  pass. 

As  I  neared  the  house  I  heard  Bran  howl- 
ing dolefully  and  my  heart  presaged  evil  at 
the  sound.  The  door  was  locked,  and  none 
came  at  my  knocking.  "Is  she  dead?"  I 
asked  myself,  "  are  the  slaves  afraid  to  open 
to  me?  "  And  then  I  saw  half  hidden  beneath 
the  sill  the  handle  of  the  key  and  knew  that 
the  door  had  been  locked  from  without.  With 
trembling  fingers  I  opened  the  door  and  saw 
Bran  chained  to  his  kennel,  not  freely  wander- 
ing as  when  left  to  guard  the  house, — and 
though  I  rushed  through  every  room,  ^lorna 
I  found  not,  nor  any  human  being,  for  after 
her  going  the  slaves  had  rifled  the  house  and 
fled. 

At  last  twisted  about  Bran's  collar  and 
made  fast  to  it  with  a  ribbon  wherewith  she 
was  wont  to  fillet  her  hair,  I  found  a  letter 
which  she  had  written  me  and  I  knew  the 
truth. 


A  Dog  of  Britain  315 

"Farewell,"  she  wrote,  "kind  hearts  and 
true.  Ferad  Artho,  my  brother,  and  thou 
Duach,  more  than  a  father,  against  my  will 
I  pain  ye  both,  but  when  love  draws  the  heart, 
it  is  as  the  current  of  a  mighty  river  which 
sweeps  away  a  birdeen  that  has  fallen  into  it 
from  its  nest.  It  would  but  have  made  our 
parting  more  grievous  to  have  tarried  till  your 
return,  and  now  is  the  Emperor  dying  and  my 
husband  must  go  to  his  father.  Therefore  for- 
give, and  if  that  may  not  be,  forget— Your 
Morna." 

With  this  letter  there  was  another  much 
longer  from  Prince  Geta,  in  which  he  told  us 
that  he  had  wedded  ISIorna  in  all  true  troth 
though  secretly,  and  that  the  ceremonies  should 
be  performed  with  fitting  state  at  Rome ;  that 
in  the  meantime  he  was  taking  her  to  his 
mother,  who  should  know  the  truth  and  who 
would  cherish  her  for  his  sake  as  a  daughter 
among  her  maidens  until  the  days  of  mourn- 
ing were  accomplished.  Later,  he  hoped  to 
bring  her  back  with  him  to  Britain  to  reign 
as  queen  both  by  the  might  of  his  power  and 
her  own  right.  ]Much  more  he  wrote,  of  how 
he  believed  that  this  marriage  had  been 
planned  by  the  fates,  since  he  had  loved  ISIorna 
from  their  first  meeting,  nay  before.     For  he 


3i6       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

had  dreamed  a  dream  while  yet  in  Rome,^ 
wherein  he  voj^aged  to  a  far  island  where  he 
beheld  a  castle,  and  entering,  two  young  per- 
sons, a  maid  and  a  youth,  playing  at  chess. 

And  he  saw  also  a  hoary-headed  man,  with 
bracelets  of  gold  upon  his  arms  and  a  golden 
torque  about  his  neck,  and  his  hair  was  bound 
with  a  chaplet  of  oak  leaves.  This  aged  man, 
with  a  steel  file,  was  carving  out  chessmen. 

But  the  maiden  was  no  more  easy  to  gaze 
upon  than  the  sun  at  its  brightest  by  reason 
of  her  beauty.  A  vest  of  white  silk  was  upon 
her  with  clasps  of  gold  at  the  breast;  and  a 
surcoat  of  gold  tissue  upon  that,  and  a  front- 
let of  red  gold  upon  her  head,  with  pearls 
and  imperial  stones.  She  was  the  fairest  sight 
that  man  ever  beheld  and  he  threw  his  arms 
about  her  neck  and  his  cheek  was  against  her 
cheek — when  behold  through  the  chafing  of  a 
dog  at  its  leashing  and  the  neighing  of  horses, 
he  awoke. 

He  said  also  that  the  love  of  the  dream- 
maiden  pervaded  his  soul  so  that  as  often  as 
he  slept  he  beheld  her,  but  that  he  found  her 
not  until  he  came  into  the  house  of  Duach  at 
Caerleon  when  he  knew  that  IMorna  was  the 

1  Adapted  from  the  Mabinogion,  "  The  Emperor's 
Dream,"  translated  by  Lady  Charlotte   Guest. 


A  Doof  of  Britain  317 


'& 


maiden  whom  he  loved.  He  knew  Duach  also 
for  the  hoary-headed  man  of  his  dream;  but 
he  saw  no  chessmen,  for  he  was  mending  his 
brother's  hurt.  And  so  intent  was  Geta  upon 
the  token  that  he  asked,  "  Have  you  ever 
carved  chessmen?"  when  Duach  answered 
mystically,  "  I  carve  kings  and  queens,  and 
these  twain  shall  play  the  game  against  thee 
and  shall  win." 

Alas !  the  wisdom  of  Duach  was  at  fault,  for 
I  had  played  the  game  and  lost.  Nor  could 
any  gainsay  the  event,  for  we  had  sworn 
loj'-alty  to  him  whom  jNIorna  should  choose 
for  her  husband — and  she  had  made  her 
choice. 

So  that  great  conspiracy  came  to  naught, 
for  Morna  had  been  as  a  bone  thrown  to  a 
pack  of  savage  dogs — for  which  in  my  absence 
they  had  fought  among  themselves  disregard- 
ing their  oath,  all  save  the  great  Duke  of 
Cornwall,  who  had  left  them  fighting,  and 
with  a  band  of  men-at-arms  had  hurried  on  my 
heels  to  Caerleon  to  seize  INIorna  by  force  and 
carry  her  to  his  castle  of  Tintagel;  and  Gra- 
thach  and  Nerthach,  who  had  slunk  away  at 
the  same  time  to  betray  the  conspiracy  to  Geta. 
We  met  all  four  in  Caerleon  and  laughed  each 
in  the  face  of  the  other. 


31 8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


Stern  and  strong  was  the  governor  whom 
Geta  had  left,  who  marched  with  a  legion  to 
the  castle  of  Abersychan,  and  those  of  the  re- 
bellious chiefs  who  were  not  already  killed, 
fled  or  surrendered  or  perished  in  the  burning 
of  the  castle. 

Duach  was  taken  and  against  his  will  set  at 
liberty,  for  Geta  had  left  command  to  do  no 
harm  to  him  or  to  me,  but  his  spirit  was  dead 
within  him,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  hope 
of  liberty.  Nor  cared  I  greatly,  for  my  heart 
was  broken  and  all  ambition  quenched  within 
me.  I  would  have  died  outright,  but  that  I 
waited  for  the  confirmation  of  Geta's  promise, 
and  for  assurance  that  jNlorna  was  happy. 
But  in  all  the  news  that  came  to  us  month 
after  month  from  Rome,  of  how  Caracalla  and 
Geta  were  co-Emperors,  ruling  jointly,  and 
of  their  magnificence,  of  the  baths  and  palaces, 
the  triumphal  arch  on  which  were  graven  their 
victories,  of  the  wealth  and  beauty  of  the  wife 
of  Caracalla,  and  of  the  intrigues  and  diver- 
sions of  the  court — with  all  of  this  gossip, 
I  say,  never  a  word  heard  we  of  the  marriage 
of  Geta,  or  mention  in  any  wise  of  Morna. 

Therefore  a  great  longing  and  unrest  pos- 
sessed me  and  I  determined  to  go  to  Rome  to 
see  with  mine  own  eyes  if  indeed  she  were 


CARACALLA 
Museum  of  the  Vatican 


A  Dog  of  Britain  319 

happy,  and  to  right  her  if  any  had  done  her 
wrong.  Duach  approved  my  going,  bidding 
me  good  speed  at  the  gateway  of  the  garth  by 
Pendragon,  and  so  hungry  was  I  for  com- 
radeship that  when  Bran  followed  me  I  did 
not  drive  him  back. 

Right  was  I  to  go,  and  bitter  need  had 
Morna,  as  I  knew  when  I  landed,  for  all  the 
port  was  in  consternation  at  the  appalling  news 
received  that  morning  from  Rome.  That  the 
two  Emperors  had  no  true  brotherly  love  for 
each  other  was  well  known,  but  their  mother, 
Julia  Domna,  had  striven  to  reconcile  them, 
and  had  planned  a  meeting  to  that  end  in  her 
own  apartments.  Geta  had  come  in  good 
faith,  but  Caracalla  had  stationed  assassins  in 
the  anteroom  who  had  fallen  upon  Geta,  stab- 
bing him  many  times,  and  Caracalla  had  him- 
self given  the  death-blow  as  his  dying  brother 
lay  in  the  arms  of  his  vainly-pleading  mother. 

The  coup  had  been  fiendishly  planned,  the 
praetorians  suborned  and  lying  announce- 
ments circulated  that  the  murder  was  an  act 
of  self-defence.  It  was  followed  by  the  mas- 
sacre of  every  known  partisan  of  Geta.  Rome 
was  in  grief,  and  panic  indescribable, — for 
none,  not  even  the  mourning  mother,  dared 
utter  word  of  protest  against  the  tyrant. 


320       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


II 


THE  FOLLO^VING  LOYE 

O  where  in  the  north,  or  where  in  the  south,  or 

where  in  the  east  or  west 
Is  she  who  hath  the  flower  white  hands  and  the 

soft  swan's-down  breast? 
Achrone,  arone,  arone,  arone,  I  see  my  winsome  lady. 
She  walks   the   road   that 's  wet  with  tears,   with 

rustling  shadows  shady, 
But  if  she  be  west  or  east  she  be,  or  in  the  north  or 

south, 
The  following  love  will  find  her  and  win  the  smiles 

to  her  mouth. 

Fiona  Macleod. — Altered. 


So  came  I  to  Rome — a  stranger  and  friend- 
less in  that  great  city.  Gold  had  I,  but  no 
influence  in  any  quarter,  and  though  I  spake 
the  Latin  tongue,  it  was  with  so  barbarous 
an  accent  that  one  of  my  fellow-travellers 
gave  me  direction  to  a  p^edagogium,  or  school, 
for  pages  of  the  Imperial  household,  where 
I  might  M'in  to  a  readier  speech. 

Fortunate  it  was  for  me  that  he  did  so,  for 
strictly  was  I  questioned  as  to  my  destination 
and  my  business  in  Rome,  when  I  landed  at 
the  great  port  built  by  Trajan  at  the  Tiber's 
mouth.     "  I  am  a  poor  scholar,"  I  made  an- 


J 


A  Dog  of  Britain  321 

swer,  "  Ferad  Artho  INIac  Finn,  seeking  in- 
struction in  the  school  of  the  whole  M'Orld,  even 
Rome."  Then  the  officer  gave  me  license  to 
continue  to  the  city  and  direction  how  to  find 
the  pasdagogium,  and  I  went  on,  with  a  sad 
heart  and  a  confused  brain,  Bran  following, 
and  a  gillie  bearing  my  harp  and  my  j)ack. 

Surely,  if  I  had  not  been  in  such  sore 
trouble,  I  would  have  delighted  in  the  mar- 
vellous sights  that  I  was  seeing, — temples  of 
marble  white  as  the  snows  of  high  moun- 
tains, and  many  columned  like  the  straight 
stems  of  forest  pines,  which  shoot  into  the  air 
row  upon  row,  being  too  thick  set  for  low 
branching. 

Desolate  and  lonely  was  I,  with  the  loneli- 
ness of  one  in  a  great  crowd  of  jostling 
strangers,  each  intent  upon  his  own  concerns. 

For  broad  as  were  the  streets,  they  were 
filled  with  a  surging  noisy  multitude,  running 
this  way  and  that  in  inextricable  confusion. 

I  loitered  not  in  the  Forum  as  I  would  have 
done  had  not  one  consuming  purpose  pos^ 
sessed  me,  but  followed  the  Clivus  Victoria, 
which  skirts  the  walls  of  the  palaces,  that 
crown  the  Palatine  Hill.  Somewhere  within 
that  citadel,  I  thought  Morna  was  weeping 
her  heart  out  for  the  black  sorrow  of  widow- 


21 


322       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

hood  that  was  on  her, — sorrow  of  such  bitter- 
ness that  it  might  well  dull  her  sense  of  the 
cruel  danger  lurking  near, — and  with  which 
my  love,  limitless  as  it  was,  knew  not  how  to 
cope. 

None  the  less,  I  strode  on  to  the  school  in 
the  Domus  Gelotiana,  which  was  on  the  side 
of  the  hill,  facing  the  great  circus.  Trouble 
had  I  in  finding  it,  for  it  was  in  the  rear  o£ 
a  barracks  of  veterans,  and  the  lower  story 
of  the  building  was  used  by  a  club  of  chariot- 
eers, while  the  paedagogium  itself  was  reached 
by  a  narrow  passageway  at  the  side.  This 
struck  me  as  not  a  happy  arrangement,  for 
the  pupils  lingered  at  the  gate  reading  the  an- 
nouncements of  the  races  there  placarded, 
gazing  at  the  fine  horses  and  betting  upon 
them,  and  learning  more  of  evil  from  the  talk 
of  the  grooms  and  jockeys,  than  all  the  in- 
struction of  their  tutors  could  wash  from  their 
young  minds. 

But  happy  for  me  was  this  strange  consort- 
ing, for  though  the  master  of  the  school  for 
a  goodly  sum  received  me  as  an  inmate,  yet 
would  he  not  suffer  my  dog  to  enter  the  door, 
sending  me  to  the  steward  of  the  club  to  ob- 
tain housing  for  him  in  its  stables;  and  thus 
it  was  that  Bran,  as  I  shall  presently  relate. 


A  Dog  of  Britain  323 

brought  to  my  aid  an  old  acquaintance;  but 
first  I  have  somewhat  to  tell  of  my  own  un- 
availing efforts. 

I  had  stipulated  that  for  the  present  I 
should  not  be  obliged  to  attend  classes,  as  I 
wished  to  see  the  city, — and  for  three  days 
I  sallied  from  that  door  at  early  dawn,  walk- 
ing the  streets  until  late  at  night,  seeking 
vainly  for  Morna.  Nor  was  my  search  utterly 
aimless,  for  I  strove  first  of  all  to  obtain  audi- 
ence with  the  Queen  Mother  and  with  the 
praetor  of  the  city,  but  was  ever  denied.  Then 
sought  I  the  officers  of  the  legions  which  had 
been  in  Britain  and  ever  as  I  asked  for  any 
friends  of  Geta,  I  was  told,  "  There  exist  no 
longer  any  friends  of  that  unhappy  Prince, 
Caracalla  has  killed  them  all.  Beware  lest 
thou  lay  thyself  open  to  suspicion  of  being  of 
that  number." 

Of  ]Morna  I  could  learn  nothing.  None 
had  seen  her  with  Geta  or  knew  of  her  exist- 
ence. Some  looked  at  me  pityingly  when  I 
declared  that  she  was  his  wife, — for  he  was 
supposed  to  be  unwedded.  At  times  a  cold 
fear  numbed  my  heart  that  she  was  dead  or 
worse.  Once  as  I  looked  into  the  gigantic 
baths,  which  Caracalla  had  just  builded,  and 
saw  him  passing  through  the  main  hall,  fol- 


324       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

lowed  by  his  court  and  welco'med  by  light 
dancing  maidens,  I  wondered  if  INIorna  could 
ever  become  such  as  these, — and  then  I  smote 
myself  for  the  thought,  for  I  knew  it  impos- 
sible. Returning  that  day  to  the  paedago- 
gium,  disheartened  b}"  my  fruitless  search  and 
racking  my  poor  brains  for  some  means  of 
winning  to  my  darling,  I  noticed  an  ancient 
and  broken  stone  staircase,  climbing  the  Pala- 
tine from  the  roadway,  disappearing  between 
old  buildings  and  anon  reappearing  again  in 
front  of  a  temple  outside  the  walls  of  the 
palaces,  but  well  up  the  steep  acclivity. 

Perchance,  thought  I,  this  old  staircase  may 
lead  to  some  forgotten  postern  gate  whereby 
I  may  enter  the  imperial  buildings;  and  I 
mounted  its  dilapidated  steps  with  quick,  im- 
patient bounds.  Bran  caught  my  eagerness 
and  raced  on  ahead  barking  joyfully.  But 
when  we  reached  the  temple  we  found  that 
the  stairs  ended  in  a  jumble  of  old  ruins  and 
mean  hovels.  Among  these  I  prowled  and 
climbed  until  at  last  my  way  was  stopped  by 
a  row  of  little  shops,  which  backed  against  a 
larger  house,  whose  upper  story  was  hardly 
level  with  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  shops,  with  the  exception  of  one  where 
wine  of  a  poor  quality  was  sold  to  the  mule- 


I 


i 


A  Doo^  of  Britain  325 


teers  living  in  this  region,  were  unoccupied, 
and  were  open  to  the  view  of  any  chance 
passer.  In  none  of  them  was  there  any  com- 
munication with  the  house  against  which  they 
were  built,  which  in  turn  jutted  from  the 
hill,  the  massive  foundations  of  one  of  the 
palaces  rising  cliff-like  beyond  and  above 
it. 

A  strange  house,  methought,  without  an 
entrance,  and  I  concluded  that  for  some  rea- 
son it  had  been  abandoned  by  its  inhabitants 
and  what  door  had  formerly  existed  had  been 
built  up  by  some  one  of  the  shops.  But  even 
as  I  thus  explained  its  inaccessibility,  there 
came  to  my  ears  the  far-away,  faint  sound  of 
singing,  plaintive  as  the  sobbing  of  a  lost 
child  that  is  too  weary  to  wail  loudly,  but 
heart-breakingly  sweet  as  the  call  of  the  night- 
ingale to  its  mate.  To  my  astonishment,  the 
song  came  from  the  depths  of  the  mysterious 
house.  Bran  heard  it  and  howled  in  answer 
until  I  silenced  him,  and  then  the  singing  had 
also  ceased. 

"Who  is  it  will  be  singing  up  yonder?" 
I  asked  of  the  shop-keepers,  but  none  knew 
or  cared,  and  weary  to  the  death  and  sick  at 
heart  I  descended  the  hill.  Then  it  was  that 
as  I   approached  the  barracks,  Bran  dashed 


326       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

into  a  group  of  charioteers,  springing  upon 
one  of  them  with  wild  yelps  of  joy. 

It  was  JNlartial,  the  charioteer  of  Geta,  whom 
we  had  known  at  Caerleon  upon  Usk.  He  re- 
cognised the  dog  and  me  also,  and  taking  me 
by  the  arm,  he  led  me  aside  into  the  stables, 
and  told  me  all  that  he  knew  of  Morna,  which 
was  both  much  and  little. 

Upon  the  reading  of  the  will  of  Severus,  it 
became  evident  that  Geta  could  not  announce 
his  marriage  with  a  foreigner  without  forfeit- 
ing his  right  to  share  in  the  government  of 
the  Empire.  This,  Morna  would  by  no  means 
permit  him  to  do,  being  content  to  dwell  in 
retirement,  his  wife  though  not  his  empress. 
A  secret  bower  he  had  found  for  her,  that  had 
long  before  been  the  simple  dower-house  of 
the  Empress  Livia,  and  which  she  would  not 
permit  her  son  to  take  down  when  he  built 
his  great  palace,  whose  w^alls  cut  it  off  from 
the  Palatine.  No  approach  had  it  save  by 
underground  passages. 

In  her  trouble  Agrippina,  the  widow  of  Ger- 
manicus,  had  taken  refuge  therein  with  her 
children,  but  since  her  death  it  had  been  lost 
to  memory,  forgotten  wdth  many  another 
abandoned  suite  in  the  now  forsaken  palace  of 
Tiberius. 


A  Dog  of  Britain  327 

Martial  himself  could  not  exactly  locate  this 
hidden  house.  He  mistakenly  believed  it  to 
be  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  near  the  palace 
of  Caligula,  where  was  the  gate  to  the  Crypto- 
porticus,  a  private  entrance  sometimes  used 
by  the  Emperors  when  returning  from  the 
city,  for  he  had  often  left  his  master  here  and 
had  occasionally  waited  at  this  gate  with  a 
chariot  not  recognisable  as  Geta's,  to  take 
Morna  for  an  airing.  Since  his  master's 
death,  he  had  attempted  to  enter  and  seek  for 
her,  but  had  been  prevented  by  the  guards. 

He  knew  not  for  a  certainty  that  INIorna 
was  still  in  Rome,  but  he  promised  to  aid  me 
in  any  way  in  his  power,  and  I  left  him  with 
the  first  ray  of  hope  that  had  dawned  upon  me 
since  my  arrival  in  Rome. 

Among  the  pupils  of  the  school  were  many 
pages  who  had  the  entree  of  the  palaces,  and 
professing  a  consuming  curiosity  to  view  their 
glories,  I  borrowed  from  one  of  my  com- 
rades his  livery,  and  bribing  another  to  ser\'e 
me  as  guide,  I  wandered  through  the  maze 
of  buildings  which  crowd  the  Palatine. 

Five  great  palaces,  named  from  the  Em- 
perors who  had  built  them,  I  traversed,  at  least 
in  part.  The  palace  of  Domitian,  most  mag- 
nificent of  all,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  court. 


328       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

This,  my  guide  told  me,  was  now  used  for 
public  purposes  of  display.  He  showed  me 
the  noble  tablinum,  an  audience  chamber  for 
foreign  ambassadors,  with  its  dazzling  throne, 
and  splendid  decorations.  I  entered  also  the 
basilica,  where  the  Emperors  judged  causes 
brought  before  them,  punishing  pitilessly  lesser 
criminals  than  themselves.  But  farther  I  was 
not  permitted  to  go,  though  the  page  pointed 
to  a  door  at  the  right  of  the  great  peristyle, 
which  he  whispered  led  into  an  apartment 
formerly  occupied  by  Geta.  Perchance,  the 
thought  came  to  me,  from  that  apartment, 
there  might  be  some  secret  passage  to  IMorna's 
dwelling,  and  I  vowed  to  myself  to  find  some 
pretext  whereby  I  might  enter  and  search. 
At  the  x^resent  time  my  guide  insisted  on  lead- 
ing me  to  the  vast  palace  built  by  Severus 
which  was  the  lair  of  Caracalla.  This  was 
full  of  courtiers  and  soldiers,  the  centre  of 
activity  of  the  Palatine  and  the  true  court  of 
the  Emperor  of  Rome.  But  little  heart  had 
I  to  view  its  treasures;  and  bv  main  force  I 
dragged  my  companion  back  to  the  northern 
side  of  the  hill,  where  were  the  old  palaces  of 
Caligula  and  Tiberius,  asking  to  be  shown  the 
entrance  to  the  Cryptoporticus.  The  page 
grumbled,  for  the  palaces  on  this  side  of  the 


A  Door  of  Britain  329 


'& 


Palatine    had    been    long    deserted    by    the 
Emperors. 

Slaves  were  quartered  now  in  the  chambers 
where  formerly  burned  that  flame  of  hell 
whom  the  world  called  Tiberius,  and  the 
gloomy  subterranean  passage  was  believed  to 
be  haunted  at  night  by  the  wildly  fleeing 
ghost  of  Caligula,  stabbed  thirty  times  by  hi^ 
pursuing  assassins.  ^ 

Many  times,  the  page  said,  had  the  ghostly 
band  been  seen  flitting  through  the  closed 
doors  of  the  house  of  Germanicus  at  the  end 
of  the  long  passage,  w^hence  in  their  lifetime 
they  had  escaped. 

"The  house  of  Germanicus!"  I  cried, 
"  know  you  where  it  is?  " 

"  Of  a  certainty,"  replied  the  other,  "  it  was 
a  fit  lurking  place  for  conspirators, — for  it  has 
no  windows,  being  lighted  from  the  roof,  and 
it  opens  not  on  any  public  street  but  from 
the  Cryptoporticus  only,  and  another  subter- 
ranean passage  which  gave  exit  somewhere  on 
that  side  of  the  Palatine  facing  the  circus." 

Then  I  caught  my  breath.  Was  this  indeed 
the  mysterious  house  behind  the  little  shops 
whence  I  had  heard  the  eerie  singing?  I 
smote  myself  for  an  idiot,  for  I  knew  now 
the  air  of  the  song — that  of  the  white  merle, 


330       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

which  sang  the  pain  of  joy  and  the  joy  of 
pain. 

"  Lead  on,"  I  cried;  "  it  is  daylight,  we  shall 
see  no  ghosts,  show  me  the  spot  where  Cali- 
gula was  murdered !  " 

So,  after  much  importunity,  he  led  me 
through  the  dim  corridor  which  they  name  the 
Cryptoporticus,  tracing  the  steps  of  Caligula 
to  the  place  where  the  daggers  of  Cherea  and 
his  fellows  found  him,  and  then  my  over-zealous 
guide  must  needs  turn  aside  into  the  degraded 
palace  of  Tiberius  to  find  the  hall  where  they 
laid  the  bodies  of  the  Emperor  and  Empress 
before  the  busts  of  their  ancestors,  while  the 
praetorians  sought  for  the  cowardly  Claudius 
hiding  behind  the  tapestry  and  set  him  up  as 
their  puppet  sovereign. 

For  all  this  I  cared  not  one  whit,  but  as  it 
was  my  pretext  for  exploring  the  place,  needs 
must  I  feign  interest  until  the  fellow  had  emp- 
tied himself  of  his  information  and  my  wallet 
of  its  small  coin.  Then,  having  rid  myself  of 
him,  I  darted  down  the  passage  toward  the 
hidden  house,  and  turning  an  angle  to  the 
right  ran  plump  against  the  spear  of  a  guard. 

Lucky  was  it  for  me  that  the  soldier  pre- 
sented me  with  the  butt  end  and  not  the  point 
of  the  spear,  his  object  being  simply  to  halt 


TABLE 

I  (Uiuus  TaLiixnjjiS 

'iTenifiLe.  of  Juf  liter  Staior 
'*Bal/is  afZivCa, 

5  Cry p.t^p7rtico 

6  HouLSC  ofLivOxy 

7  PcLSSOLqe, 

8  /mju^rxdLHemlci^cle  in  the  Staliiu^i 

9  Imperial  box.  irvUie.  GraiuL  Gj'cds 
\OJ'rcLetoruxn,£ajTCLcA:£  '       ||  1^ 

tZJ/ouse  ff£  tfvc  SoLHers  anJL  SLajuv 


AffCH  OF 


Via  Sacri 


PLAN  OF  THE  PALATINE 


TooMetTM 


roHVM 

BOAJltVM. 


■  Enlrancs 

^^,"7  Parnese  GarcUna 


A  Dog  of  Britain  331 

me,  or  I  should  not  have  lived  to  tell  this 
tale.  As  we  glared  at  one  another  in  the  dusk 
to  our  mutual  surprise,  in  spite  of  my  page's 
habit  and  the  unexpectedness  of  that  meeting, 
the  guard  knew  me  and  I  him.  It  was  a 
gladiator  who  had  been  well  known  in 
Caerleon.  "  It  is  you,  Rufinus,"  I  cried,  "  the 
creature  of  Caracalla." 

"  And  you  are  that  barbarian,  the  servant 
of  Geta's  sweetheart,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  to 
parley  with  such  as  you  that  my  master  has 
stationed  me  here.  Faith,  I  began  to  think  it 
an  idle  task,  for  you  are  the  first  of  her  friends 
to  offer  condolence — a  waste  of  time  and  ef- 
fort truly  on  your  part,  for  you  will  not  get 
in  nor  the  lady  out,  save  on  the  conditions 
imposed  by  my  master." 

"  Caracalla  knows  then  of  the  presence  of 
Geta's  widow  in  this  house?" 

"  Call  her  what  you  will.  He  knows  that 
she  is  here — and  glad  am  I  that  my  task  as 
sentry  is  nearly  over,  for  at  noon  to-morrow, 
I  shall  escort  the  little  savage  in  whichever 
of  two  directions  she  shall  please  to  choose." 

"And  what  is  the  choice  given  her?"  I 
asked. 

"  The  palace  or  the  Tiber:  either  she 
will  accept  the  Emperor's  invitation  to  view 


332       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  races  in  the  afternoon  from  the  Imperial 
box,  or  I  must  carry  her  corpse  at  nightfall, 
sewn  in  a  sack,  to  the  river." 

"And  have  you  any  doubt  as  to  which 
alternative  she  will  choose?" 

"  None,  barbarian,  for  she  is  young,  and 
life  to  the  young  is  sweet,  nor  does  she  j^et 
know  of  Geta's  death,  for  we  have  cut  off  from 
her  all  communication  with  the  world.  Know- 
ing that  he  would  not  so  abandon  her  willingly, 
she  imagines  him  also  a  prisoner,  and  I  have 
not  only  suffered  her  so  to  think,  but  have 
counselled  her  to  entreat  Caracalla  to  pardon 
his  brother  for  conspiracy  against  his  life. 
Though  she  would  not  draw  the  bolts  on  the 
inside  of  this  door,  yet  she  listened  to  my 
words." 

"  And  what  said  she  in  reply?  " 

"  Never  a  word,  but  she  heard  me  to  the 
end,  for  not  till  I  had  ceased  speaking  did  I 
hear  her  retreating  footsteps." 

"  Rufinus,"  I  pleaded,  "  she  will  never  go  to 
the  palace,  but  why  must  she  die?  Instead  of 
murdering  her,  save  her;  suffer  her  to  escape 
with  me  now,  and  you  shall  be  rich.  I  have 
much  money  with  me  and  more  shall  be  sent 
you  from  Britain." 

"Of  what  use  is  money  to  a  dead  man?'' 


< 

(r 

u 

I 


o 
o 

< 

a. 


< 
z 
< 


UJ 

CJ 

CO 

5 
O 
Q 


A  Do2f  of  Britain  333 


'& 


he  asked.     "  I  tell  you  my  life  stands  the  for- 
feit for  disobedience  of  my  orders." 

"Then,  Rufinus,"  I  besought,  "when  the 
time  comes  that  you  must  bear  her  to  the  Tiber, 
— for  she  will  not  take  the  other  road, — tell  her 
that  I  will  be  waiting  there.  Sew  her  in  the 
sack  if  you  will,  but  alive,  and  tell  me  now 
from  what  bridge  you  will  cast  your  burden 
into  the  water  that  I  may  be  lurking  beneath 
its  arches." 

With  that  he  lost  patience  with  me. 
"  Think  you,"  he  asked,  "  that  Caracalla  will 
not  assure  himself  that  she  is  dead?  I  have 
no  quarrel  with  you,  barbarian,  but  if  you 
stand  talking  with  me  longer,  you  are  like  to 
bring  me  into  suspicion.  Be  off,  and  prowl 
not  here  again,  or  I  shall  be  forced,  mayhap, 
to  kill  you." 

Well-nigh  demented  at  finding  him  so 
wickedly  incorruptible,  I  retraced  my  steps 
and  wandered  down  the  hill  to  the  city.  I 
could  not  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that  I  should 
that  very  night  in  some  way,  as  yet  unthought 
of,  effect  ]Morna's  rescue  from  the  hidden 
house,  and  I  set  about  planning  how  to  escape 
from  Rome,  when  once  she  was  outside  its 
doors.  This  was  not  so  difficult,  for  at  the 
wharf  of  the  Marmorata  I  learned  from  some 


334       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

sailors  of  a  ship,  now  lying  at  the  Portus  Tra- 
jani,  which  would  sail  shortly  for  Britain  to 
bring  back  metals  from  the  mines.  As  though 
^lorna  were  already  free  I  secured  the  services 
of  a  boatman,  who  promised  to  be  at  a  certain 
landing  with  swift  rowers  at  the  morrow's 
dawning,  and  to  wait  beneath  the  shadow  of 
the  wharf  for  my  coming,  which  should  be  as 
soon  as  possible  after  sun  rising,  and  thence 
to  take  me,  my  sister,  and  my  dog,  to  Ostia. 

It  was  a  desperate  chance,  but  I  was  in  that 
mood  of  exaltation  which  saw  the  thing  desired 
accomplished,  and  returning  to  the  paedago- 
gium,  I  set  about  the  more  difficult  part  of 
my  task. 

The  page  who  had  been  my  guide  had  told 
me  that  the  assassins  of  Caligula  had  escaped 
through  the  hidden  house.  Therefore,  I 
argued,  there  must  be  some  entrance  to  it  out- 
side the  Palatine  area,  on  the  slope  of  the 
hill,  which  I  had  climbed  the  day  before.  All 
this  region  I  searched  again,  but  could  find 
no  outlet.  Only  one  means  of  gaining  access 
to  the  house  was  left  me.  I  would  come  as 
a  thief  in  the  night,  and  having  entered  one 
of  the  little  shops  would  break  through  the 
wall.  It  was  dark  before  I  was  able  to  get 
tools  and  begin  my  task.     More  difficult  was 


I 


^^A'c 


*^^a 


M 


1  I 


TTIf  f  II I  • '  •  " 


;.  Se.baitia.Tio 


3- 
4- 

5- 
6. 

7- 
8. 

9- 

lO. 

II. 

12. 

>3. 
M- 

J5- 
i6. 

^7- 
i8. 
19. 
ao. 
21. 


23. 

33. 

24. 

as- 
26. 
27. 

38. 
2q. 
BO- 
S'. 
32. 

33- 
34. 
35- 
36. 


plan  ot  tbc  palatine  1)111 

Present  entrance. 

Remains  of  the  Wall  of  Romulus. 

Small  aqueduct. 

Stairs  of  Cacus. 

Hypocaust. 

Temple  of  Cybele  (so-called). 

Temple  of  Jupiter  Victor. 

House  of  Germanicus. 

Cryptoporticus. 

Stylobate  of  Domitian's  palace. 

Basuica 

Throne-room  of    "  " 

Lararium  " 

Peristyle  "     " 

Triclinium        "     " 

Nymphaeum    "     " 

Biblioteca         "     " 

Academia 

Exedra. 

Domus  Gelotiana. 

Substructures  of  ancient  buildings  and  por- 
tions of  road  under  the  church  of  S.  Ana- 
stasia. 

Palace  of  Hadrian. 

Terrace. 

Palace  of  Septimius  Severus. 

Arches  of  aqueduct. 

Small  shops. 

Remains  of  Nero's  palace. 

Clivus  Palatinus. 

Via  Nova. 

Farnese  Casino. 

Clivus  Victoriae. 

Ancient  tufa  masonry  under  Domitian's 
palace. 

Building  of  Republican  date. 

Very  ancient  tufa  remains. 

Tufa  arches  and  paved  road. 

Remains  of  dwelling-houses  with  baths. 


A  Dog  of  Britain  335 

it  than  I  anticipated,  for  the  walls  were  of 
concrete  harder  than  stone,  and  of  a  thickness 
incredible.  All  night  long  I  laboured.  Bran 
keeping  watch  outside;  but  when  morning 
dawned  I  had  not  cut  through  the  wall.  How 
much  farther  it  extended  I  could  not  tell — it 
sounded  as  solid  to  my  strokes  as  when  I  be- 
gan; the  point  of  my  pick  was  dulled,  my 
crowbar  bent,  and  my  strength  exhausted. 
Moreover,  the  shop  had  no  screen  of  walls  or 
doors  at  the  front,  but  was  a  mere  cell,  its 
entire  interior  open  and  exposed.  The  keeper 
of  the  wine-shop  would  come  soon;  and  even 
before  his  arrival  I  was  in  danger  of  discovery 
and  arrest. 

Sick  at  heart,  I  left  the  larger  tools  on  the 
spot  and  descended  the  hill. 

Early  as  was  the  hour,  there  was  an  un- 
usual concourse  before  the  door  of  the  quarters 
of  the  charioteers,  and  I  remembered  that  this 
was  the  day  of  the  races  in  the  Circus  JNIaxi- 
mus.  I  thought  bitterly  that  the  reds  would 
have  another  patron  to-day,  and  as  I  entered 
the  stable,  to  fasten  Bran  in  his  kennel,  I  was 
more  than  astonished  to  meet  INIartial  tricked 
out  in  the  livery  of  the  blues. 

"  You!  "  I  exclaimed,  "  the  friend  of  Geta, 
wearing  the  colours  of  his  murderer!  " 


336       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

"Hush!"  he  whispered,  "it  was  the  only 
way  to  save  my  life." 

"  And  had  you  not  sufficient  love  for  your 
master  to  die  with  him  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  have  more,"  he  answered.  "  To  die 
were  a  stupidity  which  would  serve  no  pur- 
pose. I  live  to  revenge  him."  He  scanned 
me  keenly.  "  You  have  been  unsuccessful  in 
j^our  quest.     INIorna  also  shall  be  avenged." 

"  It  is  not  yet  time  for  that,"  I  said,  and 
I  told  all  my  effort  and  my  failure. 

"  Pity  it  is  you  found  me  not  last  night," 
he  said,  "  for  I  could  have  told  you  of  an 
entrance  to  the  Palatine  enclosure,  close  to  the 
spot  where  you  so  wasted  your  time  and 
strength.  The  priest  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter 
Victor  has  a  house  just  within  the  wall.  A 
tunnel  leads  from  the  rear  of  the  temple  to 
his  dwelling,  which  is  at  the  side  of  the  palace 
of  Domitian." 

"And  this  priest?" 

"  Is  dead.  He  was  a  friend  of  Geta's,  who 
spent  much  time  in  his  company.  No  one  has 
been  appointed  in  his  place, — and  the  temple 
is  unserved.  'T  is  thus  Caracalla  affronts 
even  the  father  of  the  gods." 

Thoughts  whirled  like  lightning  flashes 
through  my  poor  brain.     There  must  be  some 


A  Dog  of  Britain  337 

communication  between  the  house  of  this 
priest,  and  jNIorna's  hidden  bower.  It  was 
through  it  doubtless  that  Cahgula's  murder- 
ers  had  gained  their  exit  to  this  side  of  the  hill. 
"  Come  with  me,"  I  pleaded.  "  Let  us  force 
an  entrance  into  that  priest's  house.  There  are 
yet  a  few  hours  before  Rufinus  was  to  take 
INIorna  to  Caracalla." 

"  Nay,"  he  replied,  "  my  time  is  filled  until 
the  moment  of  the  start.  The  temple  is  open 
though  empty.  You  can  easily  find  your  way 
to  the  gate  in  the  wall.     Go,  and  Fortune  aid 

you." 

Back  sprang  I  as  directed,  and  though  the 
gate  in  the  wall  was  fastened,  I  brake  the  lock 
with  a  chisel  and  so  mounted  an  inclined  sub- 
terranean way  which  led  to  the  interior  of  the 
priest's  residence. 

It  was  an  unobtrusive  house,  whose  front 
entrance  on  the  Area  Palatina  had  been  locked 
on  the  outside,  doubtless  at  the  time  of  the 
murder  of  the  priest.  I  explored  the  deserted 
rooms  and  found  in  the  cellar  a  barred  door 
which  on  being  opened  disclosed  an  under- 
ground passage  leading,  as  I  had  suspected, 
straight  to  Morna's  home.  At  last  in  all  this 
bewildering  labyrinth,  I  had  found  the  right 
clue, — and  would  clasp  my  darling!     I  could 


22 


338       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

have  shouted  for  joy,  but  kept  some  self- 
control  in  my  delirium  as  I  ran  laughing  glad 
to  the  wreck  of  all  my  hopes. 

For,  though  it  lacked  two  hours  to  the  time 
that  Rufinus  had  said  he  should  lead  her  to 
the  Emperor,  Morna  was  not  there.  The 
door  opening  into  the  Cryptoporticus  which 
he  had  guarded  was  ajar  and  a  stranger  sen- 
tinel was  pacing  carelessly  far  down  the  corri- 
dor. Utterly  distracted,  I  rushed  through  all 
of  the  rooms  of  that  dainty  habitation.  Empty 
were  they,  though  not  void  of  many  evidences 
of  the  recent  presence  of  their  sweet  mistress. 
There  was  clothing,  richer  than  any  she  had 
worn  in  Britain.  I  caught  up  a  scarf,  and 
burying  my  face  in  it,  sensed  a  perfume  of 
the  violets  she  loved.  There  were  books  and 
musical  instruments  and  dishes  of  silver  and 
gold, — and  roses  growing  in  great  pots  in  the 
atrium.  For  this  little  house  had  its  garden 
enclosed,  its  atrium  open  to  the  sky,  on  which 
the  three  principal  rooms  looked;  and  the 
walls  of  the  chambers  themselves,  though  win- 
dowless,  gave  vistas  of  fair  landscapes  so 
cunningly  painted  that  they  produced  the 
sense  of  space  and  freedom  of  some  Campanian 
villa. 

One  of  these  paintings  caught  my  eye  and 


A  Dog  of  Britain  339 

held  me  spellbound  in  spite  of  my  great 
trouble.  For  it  was  the  portrait  of  Morna 
herself,  depicted  as  lo — at  that  crisis  when 
the  monster  Argus,  fixing  her  with  his  malig- 
nant eyes,  crouches  to  spring  upon  his  victim. 
Long  I  stood  fascinated  by  that  beautiful  face 
and  graceful  figure.  Why  had  Geta  caused 
her  to  be  painted  thus  defenceless  at  the 
mercy  of  a  bestial  enemy?  Methought  there 
was  a  caricature  of  his  brother  in  the  con- 
torted brows,  the  cruel  jaws  of  the  monster, 
which  must  have  frighted  my  poor  love,  as  she 
knew  how  utterly  she  lay  in  his  power.  But, 
if  so,  the  imagery  on  the  wall  had  its  message 
of  hope  as  well,  for  it  showed  the  following 
love,  in  Hermes  drawing  near  to  deliver  the 
maid. 

Then  as  I  looked  I  heard  a  mighty  continu- 
ous roar,  which  might  have  been  the  bellow 
of  Argus,  but  was  the  shouting  of  the  populace 
in  the  circus,  which  greeted  the  parade  of  the 
chariots  before  the  actual  contests  which  would 
soon  begin. 

Where,  where  was  Morna?  Had  she  been 
carried  by  force  to  view  the  spectacle  from 
the  Emperor's  box?  Had  she  in  terror  of 
death  consented?  No,  she  could  not  be  there, 
and  yet  I  knew  not  where  else  to  seek  her.     I 


340       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

would  enter  the  circus  only  to  make  sure  that 
she  was  not  there,  and  then  I  would  find 
Rufinus  and  know  the  truth. 

I  elbowed  my  way  among  the  crowd  into 
that  huge  enclosure,  neither  I  nor  the  gate- 
keeper noticing  in  the  press  that  Bran  slunk  in 
with  me.  Martial  had  secured  a  seat  for  me 
on  the  spina,  a  long  low  wall  which  divided  the 
race  course,  and  as  I  took  my  seat  in  front  of 
the  met£e  or  three  great  goal  posts,  I  was  con- 
scious of  crowding  Bran  against  one  of  them. 
No  one  else  appeared  to  see  him  and  with  his 
muzzle  upon  my  shoulder  he  watched  the  pro- 
ceedings with  as  much  interest  and  far  greater 
decorum  than  the  majority  of  the  spectators. 
My  place  was  directly  opposite  the  Imperial 
box,  and  on  it  I  fixed  my  eyes,  scarce  conscious 
of  the  events  which  that  concourse  of  two 
hundred  thousand  vociferating  human  beings 
cheered  so  wildly. 

Caracalla  was  late  in  taking  his  seat,  but 
he  had  given  the  signal  for  the  opening  race 
by  dropping  a  handkerchief  from  the  terrace 
of  his  palace,  and  the  earlier  and  less  import- 
ant contests  took  place  unhonoured  by  his 
presence.  But  the  box  was  not  empty:  vari- 
ous high  dignitaries  formed  a  semicircular 
screen   around  his   golden   chair,   and  in  the 


A  Dos:  of  Britain  341 


'fc. 


shadowy  background  there  drooped  a  shrink- 
ing figure  whose  entrance  had  caused  my  heart 
to  leap  so  wildly  that  for  a  moment  the  tiers 
on  tiers  of  faces  that  walled  the  circus  whirled 
in  a  mad  dance  about  me. 

The  one  motive  that  could  have  forced 
Morna  into  the  presence  of  the  Emperor  had 
been  brought  to  bear  upon  her.  I  understood 
it  all  from  what  Rufinus  had  let  fall:  how  he 
had  told  her  that  conspirators  had  met  at  the 
temple  of  Jupiter  Victor,  and  that  Geta  had 
been  tracked  to  the  priest's  house  on  each  of 
these  occasions,  that  while  denying  that  he  had 
been  with  them,  he  would  not  confess  where 
he  had  spent  the  hours  in  which  they  had 
plotted  against  Caracalla's  life — that  only 
she  could  save  her  husband  by  proving 
his  innocence  and  interceding  with  his 
brother. 

Though  too  far  away  to  hear  her  passionate 
entreaties,  I  knew  the  meaning  of  the  drama 
acted  before  my  eyes,  and  heard  with  the  ears 
of  the  spirit  the  brutal  announcement  of  Geta's 
death,  as  she  sank  fainting  into  the  arms  of 
Rufinus.  Her  despair  made  no  impression 
upon  Caracalla.  Human  agony  was  to  him 
so  common  a  spectacle  that  it  had  lost  its 
piquancy  and  supporting  his   chin  upon  his 


342       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

palm  and  his  elbow  upon  his  knee,  he  gave  his 
mind  to  the  sport. 

Naught  care  I  for  the  mad  death-dances  of 
the  children  of  the  rein,  but  even  though  my 
fortune  and  my  life  had  been  staked  upon  these 
races,  vet  would  I  not  have  known  what  colours 
gained  or  lost.  I  can  remember  but  a  fiend- 
ish clamour,  a  confused  cataract  of  chariots 
and  steeds  and  men,  beyond  which  I  saw  only 
a  white  figure  lying  death-struck  but  unpitied 
at  the  Emperor's  side. 

Presentlv  a  louder  turmoil  arose,  and 
through  the  cloud  of  yellow  dust  two  quadrigas 
approached,  racing  madly  neck  and  neck, — 
while  others  followed  closely.  I  knew  not  the 
charioteer  nearest  the  spina,  but  JNIartial  was 
leaning  far  out  over  the  Emperor's  four  coal- 
black  steeds  just  beyond,  and  Caracalla's  im- 
mediate circle  were  applauding  wildly,  for  he 
was  gaining  inch  by  inch.  Morna,  who  had  re- 
gained consciousness,  was  begging  Rufinus  to 
take  her  from  the  scene,  when  the  Emperor, 
seizing  her  by  the  arm,  dragged  her  to  the 
front,  pointing  to  the  horses  and  shouting 
explanations  in  her  ear.  The  moment  was 
crucial,  and  as  the  foremost  contestant,  plying 
the  M^iip  upon  his  foam-flecked  horses,  came 
abreast  of  the  Imperial  chair,  Caracalla  released 


A  Dog  of  Britain  343 

his  hold  upon  his  victim  to  gesticulate  frenzied 
directions  to  JNIartial. 

As  he  did  so,  JNIorna  sprang  upon  the  low 
balustrade  and  leapt,  a  white  meteor,  far  out 
into  the  circus,  falling  upon  the  track  directly 
in  front  of  the  madly  galloping  horses.  The 
charioteer  reined  them  sharply  back,  but  no 
human  power  could  halt  them  and,  though  I 
dashed  forward,  I  was  too  far  distant  to  save 
her.  My  cry  of  despair  was  swallowed  in  a 
wail  which  rose  and  swelled  from  every  side, 
when  suddenly  a  grey  mass,  hurled  like  a  stone 
from  a  catapult,  shot  past  me,  and  lighted 
upon  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  powerful 
horses  thundering  toward  the  prostrate  form. 
The  steed's  head  was  lifted  high,  its  blood-red 
nostrils  expanded,  its  jaws  crunching  the 
bit  struggling  fiercely  against  its  control, 
when  with  a  strangely  human  shriek,  the 
glorious  animal  rolled  with  a  broken  neck  in 
the  path  of  its  mates,  chariot  and  charioteer 
crashing  down  together  and  the  following 
four-in-hand  falling  over  it  in  inextricable 
confusion. 

It  was  Bran  who  had  killed  the  horse,  as  in 
the  hunt  he  had  often  felled  a  stag,  and  who 
now  dragged  ^lorna  unscathed  from  the 
hoofs  which  almost  touched  her  robe.     I  lifted 


344       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  inert  form  and  bore  it  quickly  through 
an  exit  under  the  Emperor's  box  into  the 
street,  the  attention  of  the  spectators  fortu- 
nately diverted  by  Martial,  who  swept  by 
winning  the  race,  the  crowd  which  instantly 
collected  about  the  wrecked  chariots  adding  to 
the  confusion  and  masking  our  escape.  The 
nearest  asylum  was  the  stable  of  the  club,  and 
I  laid  JNIorna  upon  the  hay  in  one  of  the  stalls. 
It  seemed  but  a  moment  later  when  jNIartial 
drove  in  and  shouted  to  me  to  bar  the  gate 
behind  him.  I  had  wrapped  INIorna  in  a 
blanket  and  I  now  lifted  her  into  the  chariot, 
and  opening  the  opposite  doors,  which  gave 
upon  the  Clivus  Victorife,  we  sped  toward  the 
landing  where  the  boatman  had  promised  to 
await  me. 

But  as  we  approached  the  Tiber  I  saw,  none 
too  soon,  that  the  bank  was  guarded  by 
soldiers,  for  Rufinus  had  suspected  and  ren- 
dered of  none  avail  my  preparations  for  flight. 

Martial  wheeled  his  horses  just  as  the  patrol 
caught  sight  of  us,  and  with  a  shout  of  deri- 
sion, we  dashed  on  through  the  Porta  Ostien- 
sis,  and  so  took  the  road  for  the  Port  of 
Trajan,  near  Ostia, — Bran  racing  joyfully  by 
our  side,  and  none  who  witnessed  having  the 
power  to  hinder. 


A  Dog  of  Britain  345 

Morna  lived  indeed,  but  I  could  not  awaken 
her  to  full  consciousness.  At  the  next  post- 
house  we  rested,  and  changing  the  quadriga 
for  a  more  comfortable  travelling  chariot  with 
fresh  horses,  we  proceeded  more  leisurely,  for 
we  had  distanced  all  pursuit.  In  the  nick  of 
time  also  we  boarded  the  ship,  Martial  hav- 
ing scant  space  to  secure  in  the  shops  that 
lined  the  water-front  a  bale  of  such  com- 
modities as  were  necessary  for  the  voj^age. 
To  my  grief  I  could  not  persuade  him  to 
accompany  us,  nor  could  I  think  of  other  fare- 
well token  to  give  him  than  the  jewel-hilted 
dagger,  which  Fingal  had  presented  me  what 
time  I  set  out  upon  my  quest,  and  which  until 
now  had  never  left  my  side. 

I  told  him  its  story  and  how  it  had  once 
belonged  to  Caracalla.  "  He  shall  have  it 
again,"  he  replied  grimly,  "  for  I  shall  keep 
it  clean  until  this  arm  is  within  striking  dis- 
tance. M}^  opportunity  will  come,  and  it  will 
one  day  find  its  sheath  in  the  heart  of  that 
monster."  So  saying,  he  leapt  ashore  from  the 
moving  ship  and  I  saw  him  no  more. 

Of  the  voyage  to  Britain  I  remember  little. 
A  long  night  of  anxiety  it  was  to  me,  as  it 
was  one  of  oblivion  to  INIorna.  There  was  a 
leech   among   the   company   who   assured  me 


346       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

that  her  body  had  received  no  great  injury, 
but  her  mind  was  in  ecHpse.  She  lay  with  her 
head  pillowed  on  my  heart,  or  on  Bran's  body, 
and  ever  she  moved  it  from  side  to  side,  as 
she  raved  of  the  last  terrible  days,  calling  for 
Geta,  ever  for  Geta,  until  at  last  the  raving 
sank  to  moaning  and  then  to  silence  and 
wearied  out  she  slept. 

Nor  did  she  waken  fully  when,  leaving  ship, 
we  made  our  toilsome  journey  by  wains  to 
the  manoir  beside  the  old  castle  of  Pendragon. 
But  here  the  joy-shout  of  Duach  Dal  (blind 
Duach  now)  which  rang  out  when  he  knew 
of  our  homing  was  like  a  gust  of  M-ind  open- 
ing somewhat  the  casement  of  memory  in  the 
darkened  chamber  of  her  mind,  and  she  looked 
about  with  comprehending  eyes,  recognising 
both  the  place  and  us,  and  she  fell  upon 
Duach's  neck,  sobbing  forth  her  happiness,  and 
then  upon  Bran's,  and  on  mine,  last  of  all, 
saying  that  I  had  drawn  her  from  deep 
waters,  had  saved  her  life,  and  such  as  it  was, 
it  was  mine.  In  the  bliss  of  the  moment  I 
did  not  at  first  understand  that  all  of  the 
miserable  past,  from  the  hour  that  Bran  and 
I  rescued  her  from  the  Fairy  Well,  had  van- 
ished like  an  evil  dream.  Even  the  life  at 
Caerleon  had  left  no  trace,  for  the  year  and 


A  Dog  of  Britain  347 

every  record  of  its  events  were  utterly  washed 
from  the  tablets  of  her  life. 

It  was  the  same  season  as  that  on  which 
we  had  left  the  garth.  Again  the  mistletoe 
was  white  in  the  apple-trees,  and  the  gath- 
ered apples  gave  their  juice  to  the  presses. 
The  gold-and-white-pelted  collie  that  was 
Bran's  mate  was  folding  the  sheep,  and  he 
raced  through  the  orchard  to  her  while  she 
yelped  her  welcome,  knowing  him  as  he  came. 
That  night  as  we  sat  about  the  blazing  fire, 
Duach's  aged  fingers  plucked  again  from 
the  heart-strings  of  the  harp  the  old  runes 
of  the  pain  of  joy  and  the  loves  of  the 
quicken  trees.  Bran  laid  his  great  head  upon 
JMorna's  knees,  whining  uneasily,  for  the 
music  stirred  his  dumb  soul  with  a  vague 
trouble.  I  think  he  remembered  how  he  had 
heard  her  singing  the  song  of  the  white  merle 
in  the  depths  of  the  hidden  house,  and  well 
knew  how  he  had  snatched  her  from  under 
the  hoof-hammers  of  death.  But  of  all  this 
she  remembered  not  one  shred,  and  once  again 
she  loved  me  as  in  the  days  before  her  evil 
baptism  in  the  dragon-pool.  But  I  scorned 
to  take  advantage  of  any  lapse  of  memory,  and 
questioned  her  earnestly  concerning  what  had 
passed  at  Caerleon  and  Rome.     It  might  be 


348       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


that  she  had  been  there  she  admitted,  for  she 
knew  that  since  she  fell  into  the  pool  and 
grasped  at  a  diadem,  she  had  been  ill  and  had 
dreamed  strange  dreams.  "  But  they  can 
never  come  true,  my  Artho,"  she  besought  me, 
"  tell  me  that  they  can  never  come  again." 

"  The  dreams  can  never  come  again,"  I  an- 
swered, "  nor  one  of  whom  you  dreamed,  but 
perchance  the  memory  of  him  and  of  his  love, 
which  was  true,  may  come  back  to  you  more 
clearly  at  some  future  time,  and  you  will  then 
reproach  me." 

"  Never,"  she  answered ;  "  never  shall  the 
memory  of  a  dream  part  us."  It  was  early 
morning  and  as  the  twilight  reddened  into 
dawn,  she  lifted  her  hands  to  the  sun-rising 
and  repeated  the  prayer  taught  us  by  Duach, 
the  Druid:  "Praise  be  to  the  Light  which 
drives  away  the  darkness  and  the  things  of 
darkness; — even  evil  and  the  fear  of  evil  and 
evil  dreams." 

And  I  answered,  "  A  blessing  on  the  Light." 

If  she  has  remembered  more  fully,  never 
has  she  signified  it  by  word  or  sign.  Often 
have  I  held  my  breath  as  the  Roman  legions 
tramped  by  on  the  highway  leading  to  tlie 
great  wall,  while  she  watched  with  no  quick- 
ening of  the  pulse  the  light  flashing  from  their 


A  Dog  of  Britain  349 

standards  and  their  helmets.  They  who  are 
fitted  to  rule  shall  rule,  and  what  is  the  igno- 
rant longing  for  liberty  or  brute  valour  to 
knowledge  which  is  power.  We  are  a  nation 
of  savages,  nay,  not  a  nation,  but  many  dis- 
organised clans,  but  the  Romans,  who  are  our 
masters,  are  our  teachers  also,  and  we  shall 
one  day  learn  to  profit  by  their  good  teaching 
and  reject  the  evil.  Not  in  the  measure  of 
our  own  lives,  mayhap,  or  in  that  of  the  little 
lad  who  calls  me  father  and  has  locks  like  the 
flower  of  the  broom  and  eyes  like  the  flower 
of  the  flax,  and  who  places  his  stone  with 
mine  whensoe'er  we  pass  the  Cairn  of  Leek 
na  Con  where  great-hearted  Bran  lies  buried. 

Uther  Pendragon  we  name  him,  for  Ossian, 
my  foster-brother,  who  came  to  me  at  his 
birthing  and  told  me  of  the  death  of  Fingal, 
foretold  that  a  great  king  should  yet  arise  who 
should  bear  the  name  of  Arthur  and  fulfil  the 
desires  of  my  soul,  blasted  flower-like  by  rea- 
son of  their  too  early  blooming.  For  him  I 
have  written  this  tale,  bidding  him  learn  of 
every  schoolmaster,  even  of  the  Culdees  who 
preach  the  sorrowful  religion  of  Chriosd  in 
the  ancient  isle  of  the  Druids,  for  that  "  the 
old  order  changeth,  giving  place  to  new." 

"  Then  why,  son  of  Fingal,  art  thou  sad? " 


350       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

sang  Ossian  the  bard.  "  Why  grows  the  cloud 
of  thy  soul?  The  chiefs  of  other  times  are  de- 
parted. The  sons  of  future  years  shall  pass 
away.  Another  race  shall  arise.  The  peo- 
ple are  like  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  like  the 
leaves  of  woody  ^Morven  they  pass  away  in 
the  rustling  blast,  and  other  leaves  lift  their 
green  heads  on  high. 

"  Gladness  rises  like  beams  on  a  cloudy  day. 
With  morning  lead  Arthur  to  the  echoing  hall 
of  kings,  but  let  not  the  fallen  be  forgotten, 
they  that  were  mighty,  the  stately  forms  of 
old?' 


6 

3 
-I       U 


N 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   NECKLACE   OF  VESTA 

A  gold  adorned  pillared  temple  round, 

Whose  goddess  wore  snch  rich  and  precious  things, 

Worthy  to  be  the  ransom  of  great  kings. 


PART  I 

DEING  a  letter  written  by  Ataulph,  King 
■■-^  of  the  Visigoths,  relative  to  the  sack  of 
Rome,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  Christ  410, 
which  letter  is  committed  to  the  custody  of 
Sigesarius,  Bishop  of  Narbonne,  to  be  given, 
on  the  death  of  the  aforesaid  Ataulph,  to  the 
worshipful  Lady  Galla  Placidia,  rightful 
Empress  of  Rome. 

Placidia,  beloved: 

I,  thy  husband,  write  this  letter  in  the  first 
joyous  moon  of  our  wedded  life.  Please  God 
it  be  many  years  before  you  read  it,  for  I  have 
sworn  upon  my  soul's  salvation  that,  so  long 

351 


352       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


as  I  live,  through  no  word  or  act  of  mine  shall 
the  secret  which  it  contains  be  divulged. 

It  is  the  answer  to  the  first  question  which 
j^ou  asked  me  after  our  marriage,  the  only 
question  of  j^ours  which  I  have  ever  refused, 
or  ever  will  refuse,  to  ansv\^er,  and  I  reveal 
the  secret  the  more  willingly  now,  because 
there  are  other  matters  than  that  of  the  neck- 
lace woven  and  tangled  with  it  into  the  woof 
of  my  life,  which  matters  I  would  fain  have 
you  know  for  the  better  understanding  of  my 
heart  and  soul. 

Think  not,  most  beautiful  Placidia,  that  I 
read  not  the  question  in  your  eyes,  when  upon 
our  wedding-day,  in  my  fortress-palace  of 
Narbonne,  fifty  Gothic  pages  bearing  one 
hundred  golden  bowls  filled  with  jewels  poured 
their  offerings  into  the  veil  which  your  trem- 


bling hands  extended  to  receive  them. 


Right 


well  I  noted  the  eagerness  which  faded  into 
dismay  as  the  last  glittering  cascade  of  em- 
eralds, diamonds,  and  great  balas-rubies  rent 
the  filmy  meshes. 

Ere  your  lips  formed  the  words,  "  Where  is 
the  necklace  of  Vesta?"  I  knew  what  wed- 
ding-gift you  missed. 

You  had  a  right  to  ask,  for  I  had  promised 
that    (Emperor's  daughter  and  sister  though 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  353 

you  were)  the  dowry  which  I  would  give  you 
should  befit  your  royal  state  and  mine,  for  it 
would  include  every  gem  in  my  treasury  which 
had  been  wrung  as  ransom  from  the  coffers  of 
the  temples  and  palaces  of  Rome.  You  your- 
self had  seen  the  marvellous  regaha  of  Vesta, 
with  its  rows  on  rows  of  jewels,  the  votive 
gifts  of  a  long  line  of  Emperors,  which  had 
sparkled  for  centuries  upon  the  breast  of  the 
statue  of  Rhea,  only  to  be  surrendered  at 
last  into  the  hands  of  the  conqueror  Alaric, 
and  rightfully  counted  on  receiving  it  from 
his  inheritor.  Nevertheless  I  mistook  not 
your  disappointment  for  that  of  vulgar  greed. 
You  were  troubled  only  that  I,  who  pro- 
fessed unbounded  love  for  you,  should,  while 
admitting  that  I  had  bestowed  the  necklace 
in  safe  concealment,  refuse  to  show  it  to  you, 
or  even  to  tell  you  where  or  why  I  had  hidden 
it. 

Suddenlj^  through  the  doubt  and  dismay 
that  dimmed  your  eyes  I  saw  the  return  of 
the  unbounded  confidence  of  love.  "  I  have 
guessed,  Ataulph,  your  reason  for  withholding 
it,"  you  said.  "  You  fear  that  it  will  bring 
me  misfortune  such  as  it  brought  my  cousin 
Serena.  Confess  that,  though  a  Christian, 
you  fear  the  Vestal's  curse." 
23 


354       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


And  I,  taking  you  in  mj^  arms,  answered, 
"  That  is  not  the  reason ;  but  trust  me,  and 
one  day  you  shall  be  satisfied." 

It  is  in  fulfilment  of  that  promise  that  I 
am  writing  now.  The  oath  wherewith  I  am 
bound  was  made  to  Alaric  as  he  lay  dying, 
and  that  you  may  understand  fully  why  he 
demanded  it,  I  must  make  a  straightforward 
and  full  recital,  going  back  to  his  first  meeting 
with  the  Princess  Serena,  which  was  also  mine 
with  you,  on  the  day  when  Love  had  his 
will  with  us  both. 

It  was  in  the  citadel  of  Ravenna,  in  the 
seventh  year  of  the  war  which  we  Goths  of 
the  west  bank  of  the  Danube  had  waged  with 
Rome.  We  had  been  the  allies  of  your  father, 
the  great  Emperor  Theodosius,  but  when  he 
was  succeeded  in  Italy  by  your  brother,  the 
boy  Honorius,  the  mind  of  our  people  changed 
and  they  declared  that  they  had  fought  Rome's 
battles  long  enough,  and  henceforth  would 
fight  their  own.  With  this  intent  we  chose 
our  leader,  Balthus  the  bold,  my  nearest  kins- 
man and  dearest  friend,  and  raising  him  upon 
our  shields  we  proclaimed  him  Alaric  (All 
King). 

For  Alaric  had  had  strange  visions,  and  a 
demon  was  continually  whispering  in  his  ear 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  355 

that  he  was  to  conquer  Rome.  We  entered 
Italy  by  the  Julian  Alps,  and  overran  Lom- 
bardy,  but  everywhere  we  were  met  and  driven 
back,  beaten  or  outgeneralled  by  the  com- 
mander of  the  Roman  army,  the  valiant 
Stilicho.  Though  forced  every  autumn  to  re- 
tire beyond  the  mountains,  we  were  not  dis- 
couraged, and  each  spring  we  descended  again 
with  the  first  avalanches  in  ever-increasing 
hordes. 

We  knew  him  for  a  hero  while  we  hated 
him,  this  Stilicho,  whom  the  Emperor  Theo- 
dosius  had  made  the  husband  of  his  niece,  the 
Princess  Serena,  and  to  whom  he  had  given 
the  guardianship  of  his  two  children,  Honor- 
ius,  heir  to  the  Roman  Empire,  and  you,  my 
Placidia,  who,  if  j^our  weakling  brother  die, 
may  one  day  be  Empress. 

And  truly  no  better  guardian  could  have 
been  chosen,  and  as  I  have  said,  for  seven  years 
the  war  was  waged,  and  we  won  no  fixed 
advantage. 

He  had  beaten  us  so  invariably  that  he  com- 
manded our  admiration  as  well  as  our  fear, 
— and  many  of  our  wisest  clamoured  to  be 
allowed  to  return  to  their  old  homes. 

It  was  at  this  crisis  that  an  astonishing  turn 
in  the  tide  of  events  took  place,  and  Alaric, 


356       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

whose  fiery  eloquence  had  kindled  the  war, 
signed  at  the  conference  of  Ravenna  the 
articles  which  made  the  Visigoths  once  more 
the  allies  of  Rome.  The  conception  of  this 
stroke  of  diplomacy  was  Stilicho's,  but  it  owed 
its  success  to  the  wife  of  the  great  general 
who  sat  at  his  side  as  he  unfolded  the  scheme, 
and  upon  whose  face  the  eyes  of  Alaric  were 
fixed  with  a  fascination  that  scarce  permitted 
him  to  comprehend  the  terms  of  the  treaty. 

"And  what  shall  be  my  guaranty,"  he 
asked  at  last,  with  a  great  effort,  "  that  Rome 
will  pay  her  Gothic  auxiliaries  for  their 
services  ? " 

"  This  necklace,"  replied  the  Princess 
Serena,  "  which  is  well  worth  the  four  thou- 
sand pounds  of  gold  which  my  husband  has 
promised,"  and  rising,  she  threw  back  the  folds 
of  her  peplum  and  displayed  the  wondrous 
necklace  of  Vesta. 

You,  who  have  often  beheld  that  marvellous 
corsage  of  precious  stones,  which  so  covered 
the  fair  form  of  your  cousin  that  for  modesty 
no  other  vestment  was  required,  can  have  little 
comprehension  of  the  effect  upon  my  aston- 
ished gaze  of  those  linked  golden  breast-shields 
studded  with  diamonds,  harnessed  to  gorget 
and  girdle  by  strings  of  pearls  and  priceless 


3100- 


*^' 


The  Vestal  Tuccia 

From  the  painting  by  H.  Le  Roux.     By  permission  of  Soule 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  357 

gems,  which  fell  in  festoons  upon  her  arms  and 
in  long  trailing  ropes  and  fringes  to  the  skirt 
of  her  robe. 

For  an  instant  even  Alaric's  rapt  gaze  was 
withdrawn  from  the  face  of  the  Princess. 

"  The  goldsmiths  of  Rome  were  doubtless 
inspired  by  your  beauty,  most  radiant  Prin- 
cess," he  said,  "  for  never  in  my  hfe — and  I 
have  seen  the  crown  jewels  of  Byzantium — 
have  I  imagined  such  splendour." 

"  This  necklace  was  not  designed  for  me  or 
for  any  Roman  lady,"  Serena  explained.  "  No 
empress  ever  possessed  its  equal.  When  the 
beautiful  Vestal  Tuccia  was  accused  of  hav- 
ing violated  her  oath  of  chastity,  with  the 
confidence  of  innocence  she  underwent  the 
ordeal  of  holding  aloft  a  sieve  filled  with 
water  from  the  Tiber.  It  is  said  that  not  a 
drop  fell,  for  the  goddess  Rhea  proclaimed 
her  purity  by  a  miracle,  stopping  the  holes  in 
the  sieve  with  pearls.  These  were  strung 
and  formed  the  first  adornment  of  the 
efiigy  of  the  goddess.  Since  then  the  jewels 
deposited  through  many  centuries  as  votive 
offerings  at  the  shrine  have  been  added  until 
it  has  become  what  you  see.  When  my  uncle, 
the  Emperor  Theodosius,  expelled  the  pagan 
priests  from  their  temples,  abolishing  the  an- 


358       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

cient  religion  and  proclaiming  Christ  supreme 
in  Rome,  in  idle  curiosity  I  visited  with  him 
the  temple  of  Vesta.  None  had  dared  to 
enter  the  shrine  before  us,  and  an  aged  priest- 
ess, the  only  one  of  the  Vestal  Virgins  who 
had  not  fled,  was  feeding  the  sacred  fire.  The 
Emperor  extinguished  it  with  his  own  hand; 
but  the  tremendous  significance  of  the  act  was 
lost  upon  me,  for  I  was  bewitched  by  this  neck- 
lace which  I  beheld  for  the  first  time,  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the  statue  of  Rhea. 

"  With  greedy  fingers  I  withdrew  it  from 
the  statue,  the  Emperor  approving  the  act. 
Then  the  Vestal  crone,  who  was  being  dragged 
away  by  the  guards,  cursed  me  in  words  so 
horrible  that  I  have  never  since  been  able  to 
rid  my  memory  of  the  scene.  In  sleepless 
nights  and  in  terrifying  dreams  I  see  her 
frightful  face  and  hear  again  her  terrible  male- 
dictions. Moreover,  I  have  learned  that  a 
band  of  fifty  pagans,  all  men  who  will  stop 
at  no  crime,  has  been  formed  calling  itself  the 
Order  of  the  Necklace,  whose  object  it  is  to 
restore  the  cult  and  the  necklace  of  Vesta  to 
their  ancient  shrine. 

"  They  will  gladly  pay  j^ou  the  gold  which 
my  husband  has  promised  to  possess  again 
the  regalia  which  they  reverence,  whereas  it 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  359 

is  useless  for  me  to  attempt  to  keep  it.  One 
of  this  order  may  be  at  this  moment  in  this 
palace  watching  an  opportunity  to  rob  or  even 
to  murder  me." 

But  as  Serena  strove  to  unclasp  the  fast- 
enings, Alaric  stayed  her  hand.  "  Keep  the 
necklace,"  he  said.  "  Incomparable  though  it 
is,  you  alone  are  worthy  to  wear  it.  Let  it 
be  known  to  all  men  that  I  and  my  Goths 
form  henceforth  your  guards,  sworn  to  return 
it  to  you,  should  it  be  taken  from  you,  and  to 
visit  swift  retribution  on  whomsoever  would 
harm  you,  though  to  lay  hands  upon  them  we 
must  batter  down  the  gates  of  Rome  itself." 

So  that  allegiance  which  had  seemed  im- 
possible was  quickly  arranged.  We  Visigoths 
were  to  settle  in  Gallia  Narbonensis,  that  part 
of  Gaul  extending  from  the  Pyrenees  to  the 
Loire,  conquered  by  C«sar  and  again  by  ^les- 
sala,  and  possessing  rich  cities  built  by  the  Ro- 
mans, and  these  we  were  to  fortify  as  bulwarks 
for  Italy  against  the  Huns  and  the  Franks. 

Alaric  knew  from  the  first  that  his  love  was 
hopeless.  Indeed  I  think  he  could  not  have 
loved  the  Princess  Serena  as  he  did,  had  he  not 
known  her  devoted  to  her  husband.  But  none 
the  less,  he  was  her  slave,  content  to  serve 
without  guerdon. 


360       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

With  me  it  was  far  otherwise.  From  the 
time  that  Stihcho  presented  me  to  you,  after 
the  conference  in  the  great  hall  of  the  fortress, 
— though  it  was  with  the  hateful  words,  "  This 
is  the  promised  wife  of  my  son," — a  wild  de- 
termination sprang  up  in  my  heart  to  make 
that  promise  of  none  effect,  and  at  what  cost 
soever  to  win  you  for  myself. 

You  were  but  a  slip  of  a  girl  of  twelve 
summers,  and  the  boy  Eucherius,  to  w^hom 
you  were  betrothed  was  younger  than  your- 
self and  backward  for  his  years.  But  child 
that  you  were,  you  gave  promise  of  the  beauty 
which  is  your  heritage,  and  your  eyes  were  even 
then  such  as  they  are  now%  irresistible  in  their 
appeal. 

Do  you  remember,  Placidia,  that  your  first 
word  to  me  was  also  an  appeal? 

Alaric  had  explained  that  my  name, 
Ataulph,  signified  "  sworn  helper,"  and  that 
I  had  indeed  proved  myself  such  to  him. 
While  he  spoke,  your  eyes  burned  themselves 
into  my  soul,  and  as  though  satisfied  with 
what  you  saw,  you  asked,  "  Will  you  be  my 
helper  also?  " 

Bowing  gravely,  I  kissed  your  hand  and 
answered,  "  Yea,  unto  death." 

"  Then  come  with  me,"  you  replied  archly, 


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1 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  361 

"  to  the  ramparts,  and  hft  me  so  that  I  can 
see  over  them.  I  have  always  longed  to  do 
so,  hut  I  am  not  tall  enough  ";  and  you  flitted 
away  before  me,  Stilicho  smiling  indulgently 
at  your  whim. 

But  when  we  reached  the  place  your  mood 
had  changed,  and  you  faced  me  with  the  dig- 
nity of  a  woman.  "  That  was  but  a  ruse  to 
have  speech  with  you,  Ataulph,"  you  said, 
"  for  something  tells  me  that  I  can  trust  you.  I 
would  indeed  be  lifted  above  and  beyond  these 
prisoning  ramparts,  but  he  that  would  do  that 
must  be  as  much  my  friend  as  Alaric  has 
promised  to  be  that  of  my  cousin.  Are  you 
Goths  all  so  chivalric  to  women? " 

When  I  asked  how  I  could  serve  you,  you 
told  me  that  you  loathed  Eucherius,  and 
begged  me  (for  you  had  been  told  that  I  was 
on  the  way  to  Rome)  to  influence  your 
brother,  the  young  Emperor  Honorius,  to 
prevent  the  marriage. 

Then  madness  seized  me — or  was  it  inspira- 
tion? I  told  you  that  I  would  make  myself 
a  Roman  for  your  sake,  and  that  I  would  do 
such  deeds  for  your  country  as  should 
warrant  me  one  day  in  asking  for  your 
hand. 

You  nestled  closer.     "  Take  me  with  you 


362      Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

now,"  you  whispered,  "  else  it  may  be  too 
late." 

Sore  tempted  was  I  to  obey  your  behest, 
but  reason  restrained  me. 

"  You  are  but  a  child  as  vet,"  I  said ;  "  there 
is  time  for  well-considered  action.  I  am  a 
Christian  like  yourself,  and  I  have  sworn  to 
maintain  good  faith  with  Stilicho.  To  carry 
you  away  would  be  to  break  this  new-made 
treaty  and  spoil  all.  Therefore  wait  for  me 
with  constancy,  for  I  will  surely  come  again 
to  claim  you." 

With  that  we  kissed  and  parted ;  but,  though 
I  saw  vou  no  more  for  many  a  dav,  I  regarded 
you  as  my  affianced  bride,  and  loved  you  with 
an  ever-increasing  love  which  even  death  itself 
will  not  quench. 

But  when  the  league  which  Stilicho  had 
made  was  submitted  to  the  Senate,  the  words 
"  tribute-money  to  the  Goths  "  so  roused  the 
old  Roman  spirit  that  Stilicho  was  doomed. 

I  do  not  blame  your  imperial  brother,  my 
Placidia.  He  was  but  the  figure-head  upon 
the  vessel  of  the  state,  powerless  to  move  ex- 
cept as  it  moved,  and  he  was  forced  to  sign 
the  death-warrant  of  the  bravest  and  most 
loyal  friend  that  Rome  ever  possessed. 

The  travel-worn  messenger  who  had  ridden 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  363 

night  and  day  to  Narbonne  with  the  news 
had  been  sent  by  the  Princess  Serena  with 
this  letter  to  Alaric: 

"  My  Friend  : 

"  I  am  a  prisoner  in  my  villa  upon  the  Pin- 
cian  Hill.  The  necklace  of  Vesta  has  been 
restored  to  the  pagans,  but  not  content  with 
that,  they  demand  the  life  of 

"  The  Widow  of  Stilicho." 

When  Alaric  read  these  words  he  called  us 
to  leave  off  building  the  towers  of  Narbonne 
and  Carcassonne,  and  his  own  mountain  cas- 
tle between  those  cities,  and  at  the  head  of  his 
army  he  marched  upon  Rome.  His  soldiers 
were  fired  with  indignation  on  account  of  the 
non-payment  of  the  money  promised  by 
Stilicho,  but  I  knew  that  another  passion 
burned  in  the  heart  of  Alaric.  The  Princess 
Serena  now  a  widow,  might  be  won.  She  w^as 
in  trouble,  possibly  in  danger,  and  this  was 
enough  to  bring  him  to  her  aid,  and  he  forth- 
with laid  siege  to  the  city. 

The  danger  was  greater  than  he  knew  and 
was  only  increased  by  our  coming ;  for  the  aged 
priestess  of  Vesta,  who  had  cursed  Serena, 
had  reappeared  in  Rome.     Unrecognised  by 


364       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  Princess,  she  entered  her  service  and  con- 
stituted herself  a  spy  upon  her  actions,  re- 
porting to  the  Senate  that  Serena  maintained 
a  correspondence  with  Alaric  and  was  plan- 
ning to  admit  the  Goths.  There  was  sem- 
blance of  truth  in  the  calumny,  for  Serena's 
villa  was  in  the  ancient  gardens  of  Lucullus. 
The  aqueduct  of  the  Aqua  Virgo  pierced  the 
hill  beneath  it  and  was  connected  by  a  staircase 
with  the  villa  of  the  Princess.  An  army  might 
readily  enter  if  the  gate  which  opened  upon 
the  Campagna  were  unbarred  and,  threading 
the  tunnel  single  file,  could  pass  beneath  the 
walls  of  Rome  into  the  heart  of  the  city.  The 
crone  made  it  her  business  to  tempt  the  un- 
fortunate lady  to  the  very  acts  with  which  she 
was  charged,  and  herself  carried  letters  be- 
tween the  Princess  and  Alaric — issuing  from 
and  entering  the  villa  by  the  Aqua  Virgo. 

The  gate  was  guarded  without  by  a  detach- 
ment of  Roman  veterans,  but  the  Vestal  had 
the  countersign  and  the  captain  had  orders  to 
allow  Alaric,  and  even  a  small  body  of  men, 
to  enter  if  the  Vestal  accompanied  them,  for 
it  was  the  design  of  the  Senate  thus  to  trap 
the  leader  of  the  Goths. 

The  plot  was  well  planned  and  was  partially 
successful.     Serena's  desire  was  not  to  admit 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  365 

the  Goths,  but  to  escape  to  Alaric.  This,  the 
traitress  convinced  her  would  not  be  possible 
until  she  had  planned  a  rendezvous  inside  the 
walls. 

Serena's  letter,  requesting  that  a  detach- 
ment of  Goths  should  be  stationed  where  they 
could  watch  the  gate  on  a  certain  night,  and 
have  with  them  a  horse,  on  which  to  carry  her 
away,  was  changed  by  the  Vestal  into  an  ap- 
peal for  Alaric  to  visit  her  within  the  villa, 
there  to  arrange  for  the  admission  of  his 
army. 

Alaric  took  me  into  his  confidence,  and  I 
begged  that  he  would  not  jeopardise  his  per- 
son by  entering  the  city,  but  would  suffer  me 
to  go  in  his  stead,  and  though  he  answered, 
"  Be  assured  that  Alaric  will  not  suffer  his 
friend  to  go  where  he  himself  dares  not  ven- 
ture," yet  my  caution  had  its  weight,  for  he 
sent  the  spy  back  with  a  letter  to  Serena  en- 
treating her  and  you,  Placidia,  to  join  us  out- 
side the  gate  on  the  next  night,  that  we  might 
know  you  were  safe  in  our  camp  before  assault- 
ing the  city. 

When  the  Senate  read  that  letter,  they  knew 
that  their  hope  of  trapping  Alaric  was  foiled, 
and  they  had  no  intention  of  allowing  Serena 
to  escape;  but  they  bade  the  Vestal  display 


366       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  torch  which  was  to  be  the  signal  that  she 
agreed  to  his  plan. 

Our  scouts  had  made  a  careful  recon- 
noissance  of  the  vicinity.  It  appeared  to  be 
neglected,  and  Alaric  ordered  a  demonstration 
of  activity  to  be  made  in  another  quarter,  in 
order  that  attention  should  be  withdrawn  from  ^^ 

this  portion  of  the  wall.     The  night  was  moon-  J 

less,    the    sky    overcast   by    scudding    clouds.  \\ 

Under  cover  of  the  obscurity  our  detachment  l! 

of  fifteen  picked  men  rode  to  a  lonely  farm- 
house, the  nearest  building  to  the  aqueduct.  ,i 
Here  we  left  our  horses,  and  crept  up  a  ravine                ^ 
toward  the  water-gate.  *; 

High  on  the  very  edge  of  the  wall  stood  .' 

the  villa,  and  the  signal  light  in  the  cresset  ►- 

assured  us  that  the  two  women  whom  w^e 
loved  were  aAvaiting  our  coming,  for  the  Vestal,  ?' 

rightly  comprehending  my  eager  questioning,  I* 

had    lied,    saying   that    you   w^ere   with   your  ;/ 

cousin  and  had  charged  her  with  many  verbal 
messages  of  affection.  Therefore,  believing 
too  readily  what  we  most  longed  for,  Alaric 
and  I  approached  the  gate,  a  little  in  advance 
of  the  men  who  crept  upon  all-fours  behind  '  ■ 

us.  We  had  expected  to  find  it  ajar,  but  it 
was  closed,  and  as  I  fumbled  for  the  latch,  my 
hands  were  slimy  with  moisture  and  drops  fell 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  367 

upon  my  forehead.  Just  then  the  stars  shone 
out  and  Alaric  uttered  a  hoarse  cry.  I 
glanced  upward  and  there,  nailed  by  the  hair 
upon  the  gate,  was  a  ghastly  object — the 
severed  head  of  the  Princess  Serena! 

With  a  cry  Alaric  pushed  me  aside  and  de- 
tached it  from  its  fastenings,  and  with  it  a 
bloody  parchment  on  which  was  written, 
"  Thus  the  traitress  Serena  keeps  her  rendez- 
vous with  the  King  of  the  Goths;  but  the 
Princess  Placidia  grants  none  to  an  enemy  of 
Rome." 

While  Alaric  stood  encumbered  with  this 
horrible  burden,  and  I  read  the  words  to  him, 
the  gate  was  thrust  violently  open  and  armed 
men  sprang  upon  us.  Our  swords  were  out 
and,  our  brave  followers  at  our  side,  we  fought 
our  way  back  to  the  villa  where  we  had  left 
our  horses,  and  so,  with  many  wounds,  escaped 
with  half  of  our  men  to  our  camp. 

But  all  the  way  Alaric  bore  the  head  which 
living  he  had  so  worshipped,  close  folded  to 
his  heart,  and  laid  it  at  last  upon  his  pillow, 
wet  with  blood  from  his  own  wounded  arm. 

Then  we  knew,  from  the  distorted  features 
and  by  the  prints  of  sharply  faceted  gems  in 
the  soft  flesh,  that  the  Princess  had  been 
strangled  by  the  Necklace  of  Ve^sta  itself,  and 


368       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  head  afterwards  severed  so  close  to  the 
body  that  we  might  see  these  scars  upon  her 
throat  and  have  no  doubt  as  to  the  manner 
of  her  death. 

We  gave  the  head  Christian  burial  in 
an  old  subterranean  church,  among  the  relics 
of  holy  men  and  women  martyred  like  her 
by  Roman  beasts.  In  the  tumult  of  wild 
emotions  which  tore  my  heart,  it  was  not 
pity  for  the  fate  of  the  Princess  which  moved 
me  most,  or  the  stony  grief  of  my  kinsman, 
or  even  my  own  bitter  disappointment,  but 
the  rumour  brought  us  by  a  deserter,  that 
you  whom  I  worshipped  as  my  ideal  of  all 
things  holy  had  appeared  before  the  Senate, 
urging  them  to  condemn  your  cousin  to  this 
cruel  death. 

In  my  soul  I  believed  you  innocent  of  this 
crime,  but  when  I  bethought  me  of  Serena's 
fixed  ambition  that  you  should  become  the  wife 
of  her  son  Eucherius,  I  was  sick  with  doubt. 

But,  even  when  my  judgment  reeled  before 
the  accusation  which  I  could  not  disprove,  I 
knew  that,  innocent  or  guilty,  I  should  love 
you  until  my  death.  All  in  vain  I  argued 
with  Alaric  in  your  behalf.  His  reply  was 
that  there  was  nothing  which  a  woman  would 
not  do  for  greed  of  precious  stones, — that  both 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  369 

he  and  you  knew  that  Serena  had  bequeathed 
the  necklace  of  Vesta  to  you  upon  her  death, 
and  that  you  had  undoubtedly  concocted  this 
plot  in  order  to  secure  it. 

"  And  by  God's  death,"  he  swore,  "  she  shall 
have  the  necklace,  and  in  the  same  fashion  that 
the  Princess  Serena  last  wore  it;  for  if  ever 
she  and  it  come  into  my  power,  these  hands 
shall  clasp  it  about  her  guilty  throat." 

Ever  thereafter  I  fought  in  agony  of  mind, 
knowing  that  each  victory  of  ours  brought 
Alaric  nearer  to  his  revenge, — until  at  last  in 
fear  of  starvation  the  Senate  agreed  to  all  of 
Alaric's  demands  save  two: — for  they  could 
not  give  him  the  necklace,  the  pagans  having 
hidden  it,  and  they  had  the  manhood  not  to 
deliver  up  the  sister  of  their  Emperor  to  his 
will. 

I  think  that  Alaric  honoured  them  the  more 
for  their  refusal,  though  he  replied  simply: 

"If  Rome  wishes  more  fighting,  Rome  shall 
have  it." 

But  ere  it  came  to  that,  I  was  to  endure 
the  sternest  ordeal  of  my  life,  for  the  deputa- 
tion thus  sent  back  returned  again  at  nightfall 
to  negotiate  further.  I  had  command  of  the 
outpost  nearest  the  gate  from  which  it  issued, 
and  I  watched  the  little  group  under  a  flag 
24 


3/0       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  truce  file  down  the  steep  hill,  cross  the  Salar- 
nian  bridge,  and  slowly  climb  the  incline. 
They  were  on  foot,  though  all  were  patricians 
except  two  slaves,  who  bore  between  them  a 
litter. 

The  beating  of  my  heart  told  me  whom  they 
brought  ere  I  assisted  you  to  descend,  and  bid- 
ding the  others  wait  in  the  guard  room  below, 
I  led  you  up  the  rude  staircase  to  the  upper 
story  of  the  tower  which  served  me  as  post  of 
observation  and  habitation. 

There  with  a  sob  of  joy  you  threw  yourself 
upon  my  neck,  and  the  rapture  of  that  mo- 
ment as  I  held  you  close,  heard  you  speak,  and 
knew  you  innocent  and  true  in  all  that  tangle 
of  intrigue  and  crime,  all  but  bereft  me  of 
my  senses. 

You  had  sent  me  no  message  by  the  trait- 
ress Vestal,  nor  had  you  any  part  in  the  foul 
murder  of  your  cousin,  nor  had  you  known 
of  the  refusal  of  the  Senate  to  Alaric's  de- 
mand for  your  presence  in  our  camp  until  the 
return  of  the  parleyers,  when,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  dismay  occasioned  by  his  ulti- 
matum, you  had  compelled  them  to  bring  you 
to  us. 

"  I  had  no  fear,"  you  added,  "  for  I 
trusted  in  your  influence,  Ataulph,  to  induce  ^ 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  371 

Alaric  to  abandon  the  siege.  And  I  have 
brought  my  brother's  written  promise  that 
Rome  shall  be  ransacked,  and  if  necessary,  the 
leading  pagan  patricians  tortured,  until  the 
necklace  of  Vesta  is  discovered  and  sent  to 
him." 

At  that  final  word  I  came  to  myself  and 
remembered  your  danger.  "  God  forbid,"  I 
cried,  "that  the  accursed  thing  or  that  you, 
my  Placidia,  should  ever  come  under  the  power 
of  Alaric.  You  must  go  back  to  Rome, — 
and  the  King  of  the  Goths,  who  is  at  the  head- 
quarters of  the  army,  shall  never  know  that 
you  have  ever  been  within  our  lines." 

"  And  you  refuse  to  receive  me,  now  that 
I  have  risked  all  to  come  to  you? "  you  cried, 
your  eyes  wide  with  wonder  and  indignation. 

"  I  can  only  tell  you,"  I  replied,  "  that  you 
are  in  deadly  danger  here, — peril  from  which 
I  am  powerless  to  protect  you." 

I  saw  by  the  scorn  in  your  face  that  you 
did  not  believe  me.  "  I  dispense  with  your 
protection,"  you  said,  "  and  I  rely  upon  that 
of  Alaric  alone,  whom  my  cousin  Serena  be- 
lieved to  be  the  most  chivalrous  of  men." 

As  you  spoke  we  heard  his  resolute  tramp 
upon  the  stair,  and  the  man  to  whom  you  ap- 
pealed stood  before  us.     He  looked  for  a  space 


372       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


from  one  to  the  other  of  us,  holding  his  chin 
musingly  in  his  hand. 

"  This  is  the  Princess  Placidia?  "  he  asked 
at  length. 

"  And  my  affianced  wife,"  I  replied,  striving 
to  draw  you  to  my  side,  but  you  repulsed  me 
violently,  crying,  "  That  I  am  not,  nor  will 
ever  be.  I  am  your  voluntary  hostage,  my 
Lord  Alaric,  and  come  as  pledge  that  all  your 
demands  will  be  met  by  Rome." 

"  They  told  me  so,  below  stairs,"  he  replied, 
regarding  j^ou  curiously.  "  All  the  same  I 
thought,  mistakenly  perchance,  that  the  weal 
of  Rome  might  not  have  been  the  only  motive 
which  brought  you  hither.  I  have  given  my 
word  to  the  parleyers  that  you  shall  be  hon- 
ourably entertained,  and  I  came  to  ask  you, 
Ataulph,  to  act  as  this  lady's  guardian  while 
she  is  in  our  custody." 

Defiance  flamed  in  your  eyes  and  tossing 
your  little  head  high,  you  replied :  "  Trust 
him  not,  he  has  just  endeavoured  to  persuade 
me  to  return  to  Rome." 

"  I  cannot  believe,"  he  answered,  "  that 
Ataulph  would  so  thwart  my  will." 

"  It  is  nevertheless  true,"  I  retorted,  "  and 
you  can  understand  why  I  did  so." 

"  I    understand,"    he   said,    looking    at   me 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  373 

fixedly,  "Ataulph  deemed  you  not  safe  with 
me.  He  doubtless  told  you  of  an  oath  I 
swore  in  the  bitterness  of  my  soul.  Oaths 
are  not  hght  things,  and  I  am  accustomed  to 
keep  mine." 

"  Your  oath?  "  you  replied  in  bewilderment, 
"Ataulph  told  me  nothing  of  any  oath  of 
yours." 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  "  well  for  your  peace 
of  mind  and  good  opinion  of  me ;  and  Ataulph, 
if  you  have  any  hope  that  I  may  not  fulfil  it, 
then  never  let  mortal  know  what  I  have 
sworn.  But  Princess,"  he  added,  turning  to 
you,  and  addressing  you  with  a  strange  smile, 
"  I  counsel  you  be  courteous  to  Ataulph,  for 
you  may  one  day  wish  that  you  had  accepted 
his  connivance  at  your  escape.  He  shall  es- 
cort vou  to  mv  citadel  of  Narbonne,  where 
you  shall  be  my  guest,  while  your  countrymen 
are  collecting  the  tribute  I  have  asked.  Be 
not  afraid  of  Ataulph,  his  honour  is  as  immeas- 
urable as  is  his  love.  Nor  need  you  fear  me 
if  you  are  innocent,"  and  Alaric  took  your 
face  in  his  hands  and  looked  again  into  your 
clear  eyes.  *'  If  you  are  as  good  as  you  seem, 
call  upon  God  to  vindicate  you,  by  never 
suffering  the  necklace  of  Vesta  to  fall  into  my 
hands,  and  so  may  the  Judge  of  all  keep  me 


374       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

from  a  great  crime  and  bring  the  guilty  to 
punishment." 

You  had  no  conception  of  what  he  meant, 
or  of  the  love  and  torturing  fear  which  fought 
within  my  heart.  You  thought  that  I  had 
ceased  to  love  you  and  had  striven  to  disem- 
barrass myself  of  you,  and  you  hated  me  as 
only  a  humiliated  woman  can  hate.  I  was 
your  guard  riding  at  your  side  during  the 
long  day-marches,  and  a  faithful  sentry  pacing 
before  your  tent  at  night.  Rarely  I  slept,  and 
when  I  did  so,  it  was  at  your  threshold,  my 
hand  upon  my  sword. 

You  misunderstood  every  attention  and  re- 
jected every  overture  of  kindness,  flinging 
upon  me  the  taunt  that  when  your  brother, 
who  was  at  Ravenna,  should  hear  of  what  had 
happened  he  would  send  his  valiant  general 
Constantius  with  a  legion,  to  rescue  you. 

In  my  heart  I  had  decided  that  if  such  on- 
slaught were  made,  I  would  allow  you  to  be 
captured  and  carried  away  from  me  for  ever, 
rather  than  submit  you  to  the  fatal  chance  of 
the  surrender  of  the  necklace,  which  the  fanat- 
ical Alaric  would  regard  as  God's  bidding  to 
execute  upon  you  his  sworn  retribution. 

But  our  northern  journey  was  accomplished 
in  safety.     There  was  no  attempt  to  snatch 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  375 

you  from  us,  and  though  I  left  you  oppor- 
tunities to  escape  you  were  too  honourable  to 
avail  yourself  of  them. 

When  we  clattered  over  the  drawbridge  and 
entered  tower-girdled  Narbonne  you  had  more 
the  air  of  a  conqueror  than  I.  The  sight  of 
the  rampart  of  the  Pyrenees,  the  first  high 
mountains  that  had  met  your  gaze,  filled  you 
with  exultation  and  you  drew  in  the  pure  air 
with  delight. 

"  This  is  glorious,  glorious!  "  you  cried,  and 
as  I  lifted  you  from  your  saddle  your  hand 
rested  upon  my  shoulder  with  something  like 
a  caress,  and  as  the  days  went  by,  I  saw  that 
you  were  changing,  and  were  not  pining 
prisoner-like  for  the  southland.  I  thought 
that  this  was  because  you  had  not  found  the 
Goths  and  the  Gauls  the  barbarians  which 
you  had  thought  them.  For  all  through 
southern  Gaul  in  the  cities  of  ^larseilles  and 
Nimes  and  Aries,  and  even  in  our  mountain 
fastnesses,  Roman  arms  had  maintained  Ro- 
man law  and  that  in  turn  had  paved  the 
way  for  Roman  civilisation  which,  engrafted 
on  a  sturdier  stock,  had  not  corrupted 
morals  or  weakened  the  mind  or  hardened 
the  heart,  but  prepared  all  for  the  relig- 
ion   of    Christ.     And    indeed,    the    revulsion 


376       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  feeling  which  followed  when  you  compre- 
hended this  was  doubtless  a  mighty  factor  in 
the  transformation  wrought  before  my  eyes. 
The  wild  and  beautiful  region  also  captivated 
you.  You  sang  at  times,  you  walked  with  a 
buoyant  step.  I  loved  you  more  and  more,  but 
I  understood  you  less  and  less,  for  to  me  you 
were  still  so  wilful  and  ungracious  that  I 
could  not  guess  that  under  your  sheath  of  in- 
difference you  took  note  of  and  yearned  for 
my  love. 

The  year  came  to  its  end  too  quickly.  Not 
one  of  the  engagements  which  the  Romans 
had  made  had  been  kept.  The  Gothic  soldiers 
clamoured  for  their  pay  and  again  Alaric 
besieged  Rome. 

Your  parting  word  to  Alaric  as  we  took 
leave  of  you  was,  "  I  hope  they  will  not  give 
you  all  you  demand,  so  that  you  may  still 
have  an  excuse  to  keep  me  here,  for  I  look  on 
you  not  as  a  captor,  but  as  a  kind  guardian." 

"  Is  it  so? "  he  asked.  "  Then  I,  too,  trust 
that  they  will  not  give  quite  all  that  I  have 
demanded." 

But  to  me  you  had  no  such  farewell. 

It  were  too  long  to  recapitulate  that  campaign 
in  all  its  details.  Alaric's  magnanimity  w^as 
matched  continualty  by  treachery  and  faith- 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  377 

lessness  and  the  inevitable  day  came  at  last 
in  midsummer  of  the  year  four  hundred  and 
ten  when  we  Goths,  an  hundred  thousand 
strong,  without  waiting  to  lay  formal  siege, 
battered  down  the  Salarnian  Gate  and,  sweep- 
ing away  all  resistance,  entered  Rome. 

Never  was  the  sack  of  a  city  conducted  with 
such  restraint.  Only  the  villa  where  Serena 
had  met  her  death  and  the  neighbouring  palace 
of  Sallust  were  burned.  All  Christians,  and 
even  pagans,  who  took  refuge  in  Christian 
churches  were  spared,  and  though  we  seized 
the  treasures  of  the  idolators  not  a  golden 
chalice  or  embroidered  vestment  belonging  to 
holy  church  was  taken. 

The  trembling  Senate  hastened  to  bring  to 
Alaric  every  ounce  of  gold  which  had  been 
promised  and  much  more,  so  that  every  Gothic 
soldier  was  enriched.  Alaric  made  stern  in- 
quisition into  the  death  of  the  Princess  Se- 
rena, and  was  told  bv  the  Senators  how 
cunningly  the  aged  Vestal  had  planned  and 
executed  her  plot,  so  that  they  believed  that 
Serena  had  written  the  letter  forged  to  imitate 
her  hand,  which  offered  to  admit  our  army. 
Thej^  falsely  declared  also  that  you  had  sent 
this  letter  to  them. 

But  the  Senators  insisted  that  thev  had  not 


378       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


condemned  the  Princess  to  death,  but  that  her 
murder  had  been  committed  by  the  secret 
organisation,  the  Order  of  the  Necklace  of 
which  Serena  had  told  us,  and  that  they  alone 
knew  its  hiding-place. 

Alaric  demanded  that  these  men  should  be 
surrendered  to  him  as  captives,  and  when  this 
was  done  ordered  that  they  should  accompany 
the  army  in  chains.  He  made  no  requisition 
for  the  necklace  itself ;  one  would  have  thought 
he  had  forgotten  it,  though  I  knew  that  this 
was  not  the  case.  He  was  in  sore  trouble  of 
mind  in  regard  to  his  duty  toward  you,  Pla- 
cidia,  but  he  trusted  that  God  would  vindicate 
and  protect  you  by  keeping  from  him  the 
necklace,  the  surrender  of  which  .he  had  consti- 
tuted an  attestation  of  your  crime. 

But  as  we  were  leaving  the  city  the  Roman 
general  Constantius  stayed  us  in  front  of  the 
temple  of  Vesta,  and  two  lictors  bore  from 
the  shrine  a  carven  chest.  Raising  the  lid, 
Constantius  displayed  the  fateful  object,  call- 
ing upon  all  present  to  bear  witness  that  every 
extortion  of  the  conqueror  had  been  paid,  and 
that  his  personal  honour,  as  well  as  the  law  of 
nations,  now  demanded  the  return  of  the  host- 
age, the  Princess  Placidia. 

Alaric  turned  deadly  pale.      "  I  keep  my 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  379 

oaths,"  he  muttered,  and  in  a  voice  that  froze 
my  blood  he  swore,  "  ^lay  God  strike  me  dead 
within  this  year  if  I  bring  her  not  back  to  you 
adorned  with  that  devil's  bait." 

So  we  evacuated  Rome,  but  not  to  return  to 
Aquitania,  for  Alaric  had  determined  to  put 
off  the  evil  day  by  first  subduing  all  the  pen- 
insula of  Italy  and  Sicily  and  thence  attempt- 
ing the  conquest  of  Africa.  We  had  first  to 
build  ships,  and  when  built  a  great  storm  sunk 
or  disabled  the  greater  part  of  the  fleet,  and 
while  we  waited  in  Calabria,  fever  struck  down 
our  leader,  and  Alaric,  unconquerable  by  man, 
lay  dying  by  the  hand  of  God. 

"  Undo  my  gorget,"  he  gasped,  as  I  bent 
over  him,  "  for  this  weight  upon  my  chest  is 
crushing  me  to  death."  As  I  removed  his 
shirt  of  mail,  I  saw  to  mv  astonishment  that 
he  wore  the  necklace  beneath  it. 

"  Nay,  take  it  not  away,"  he  babbled  in  de- 
lirium, "  for  I  have  seen  the  Princess  Serena, 
who  longs  for  it  in  Heaven,  and  who  claims 
the  fulfilment  of  my  promise  to  restore  it  to 
her.  That  promise  takes  precedence  of  the 
oath  I  swore  at  her  death.  Neither  Placidia 
nor  any  one  else  shall  possess  it  but  only  you, 
my  love,  Serena.  I  did  not  think  that  I  could 
restore  it  to  you,  but  I  am  bringing  it.     No 


380       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

hands  but  yours  shall  take  it  from  my  neck. 
From  my  bosom  to  yours — Death  separated, 
and  Death  shall  join." 

Then  he  turned  his  dying  eyes  upon  me,  and 
I  promised  that  none  should  remove  the  neck- 
lace nor  the  secret  of  its  hiding-place  be  told 
— so  long  as  I  should  live. 

We  loved  our  chieftain,  and  that  none 
should  violate  his  tomb  we  caused  the  Roman 
captives  to  turn  the  river  Busento  from  its 
course,  where  it  leaps  from  the  Apennines  ere 
it  encircles  the  town  of  Cosenza.  There,  in 
its  bed,  they  fashioned  a  tomb  and  thither  I 
led  the  war-house  of  my  brother,  two  of  his 
comrades  walking  on  either  side,  and  sup- 
porting the  dead  Alaric  as  he  rode  to  his 
sepulchre. 

At  the  blow  from  my  battle-axe  on  the  white 
star  upon  his  forehead  the  noble  charger  sank 
to  his  knees,  and  we  closed  the  door  upon  our 
leader  still  sitting  upright  in  his  saddle.  Then 
they  opened  the  sluice-gates  and  the  river 
rolled  again  in  its  wonted  channel. 

When  these  rites  were  accomplished  the 
Goths  elected  me  their  king  and,  according 
to  their  ancient  custom,  the  noblest  of  the  war- 
riors raised  me  upon  their  shields,  so  present- 
ing me  to  the  army. 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  381 

Their  first  act  after  swearing  allegiance  was 
one  of  disobedience  to  my  express  commands, 
for  when  I  pardoned  the  miserable  captives, 
the  chiefs  howled  aloud  that  these  men 
had  been  already  condemned  to  death  by 
Alaric  for  the  murder  of  Serena,  and,  even 
if  this  were  not  so,  their  death  was  necessary 
in  order  that  the  place  of  his  burial  should 
remain  for  ever  unknown  to  the  Romans. 

Therefore  without  delay  they  massacred  the 
wretches  and  cast  their  bodies  into  the  river, 
where  they  still  keep  in  death  the  oath  which 
they  had  made  to  guard  the  necklace  of 
Vesta. 

This  conduct  of  my  turbulent  and  savage 
adherents  gave  me  food  for  serious  reflection; 
for  though  I  had  been  eager  to  extinguish  the 
name  of  the  Roman  Empire  so  that  what  had 
been  Roman  should  be  Gothic  and  Ataulph 
should  be  what  Csesar  Augustus  had  been, — 
yet  this  experience  made  me  realise  that  the 
Goths,  in  their  unbridled  barbarism,  were  un- 
fit to  govern  themselves  or  to  obey  laws  unless 
forced  by  a  sovereign  power — and,  seeing  that 
no  state  stood  for  the  majesty  of  law  like  to 
the  Roman,  I  determined  to  efface  mv  own 
ambition  and  give  myself  the  glory  of  estab- 
lishing the  Roman  Empire  upon  sure  founda- 


382       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

tions.  Therefore  I  gave  the  order  for  the 
evacuation  of  Italv,  and  the  armv  of  the  Visi- 
goths  in  the  flush  of  its  success  took  up  its 
peaceful  return  march  to  Gallia  Narbonensis. 

You  gave  me  scant  welcome,  Placidia,  for 
when  I  laid  my  crown  at  your  feet  it  was  but 
to  receive  the  haughty  reply  that  never  as  a 
captive  would  you  wed  your  captor  though 
he  were  the  conqueror  of  the  world. 

When  I  strove  to  explain  to  you  the  resolve 
which  had  formed  itself  in  my  mind,  you 
looked  at  me  with  blank  incredulity  and  bade 
me  put  those  wild  promises  into  execution,  for 
not  until  your  imperial  brother  tendered  me 
3^our  hand,  as  his  ally  and  the  saviour  of  Rome, 
would  you  place  it  in  mine. 

Well  you  knew  that  the  Emperor  regarded 
another  man  in  that  light,  for  Constantius  had 
taken  the  place  of  Stilicho,  had  quelled  a  re- 
volt in  Africa,  and  was  now  at  our  very  doors, 
laying  siege  to  Aries,  and  ever  and  always  he 
demanded  your  return,  for  you  were  the  lode- 
star of  his  ambition  even  as  of  mine. 

With  long  patience  and  unconquerable  de- 
termination I  combated  him, — not  now  upon 
the  field  of  battle,  but  in  the  councils  of  Rome 
and  in  the  wavering  favour  of  Honorius. 

At  length  my  opportunity  came  when  Sarus, 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  383 

the  hereditary  foe  of  my  family,  with  a  motley 
horde  of  Tartars,  Huns,  and  Burgundians, 
swept  down  to  invade  Italy.  These  I  stayed 
upon  their  way  and  overthrew,  and  your 
brother  in  his  gratitude  bestowed  upon  me 
the  prize  for  which  I  had  fought,  his  author- 
isation of  our  marriage.  Even  then  I  was 
not  content,  for  I  knew  not  that  I  had 
won  your  love  until  I  saw  you  standing  be- 
tween the  two  towers  of  the  gate  of  Narbonne, 
extending  a  laurel  crown  and  hailing  me 
Friend  and  Defender  of  Rome. 

I  counted  that  the  greatest  victory  which 
I  had  ever  won,  and  I  am  content,  for  I  know 
now  that  you  have  loved  me  even  as  I  have 
loved  you, — and  that  no  misunderstanding  can 
ever  again  separate  us.  Your  love  wavered 
not  when  from  the  wedding  gifts  which  I 
lavished  upon  you  you  missed  the  resplendent 
necklace  so  fiercely  fought  for  and  so  un- 
willingly yielded  as  a  part  of  the  ransom 
of  Rome.  When  your  eves  read  these  lines, 
you  will  not  grudge  its  present  resting- 
place,  or  blame  me  for  the  one  secret  which 
I  shared  not  with  you,  for  I  shall  have  gone 
to  Alaric,  having  kept  my  word,  and,  in  de- 
spite of  that,  shall,  I  trust,  have  proved  how 
utterly,  how  immeasurably  I  love  you. 


384       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 


PAET  II 


HONORIA   AND    ILDICO 
A)i  Afterword 

By    Cosenza,    songs    of    wail    at    midnight    wake 

Busento's  shore, 
O'er  the  wave  resounds  the  answer,  and  amid  the 

vortex'  roar! 

Valiant  Goths,  like  spectres,  steal  along  the  banks 

with  hurried  pace, 
Weeping  over  Alaric  dead,  the  best,  the  bravest  of 

his  race. 

In  the  waveless  hollow  turning  o'er  and  o'er  the  sod, 

the  corse 
Deep  into  the  earth  they  sank,  in  armour  clad  upon 

his  horse. 

And,  a  second  time  diverted,  was  the  flood  conducted 

back. 
Foaming  rushed  Busento's  billows  onward  in  their 

wonted  track. 


And  a  warrior  chorus  sang,  "Sleep  with  thy  honours 

hero  brave! 
Ne'er  shall  foot  of  lucre-lusting  Roman   desecrate 

thy  grave ! " 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  385 

Far  and  wide  the  songs  of  praise  resounded  in  the 

Gothic  host: 
Bear  them  on,  Biisento's  billow,  bear  them  on  from 
coast  to  coast. 

August  von  Platen. 
Translated  by  Alfred  Baskerville. 


The  historic  documents  relating  to  the  Em- 
press Galla  Placidia  are  arranged  for  our  in- 
spection by  Ferdinand  Gregorovius  in  his 
erudite  History  of  Rome  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
With  still  greater  fascination,  Hodgkin 
sketches  her  history  in  his  great  work,  Italy 
and  her  Invaders,  summing  up  her  history  in 
the  following  tribute: 

Without  palliating  her  alleged  share  in  the  judicial 
murder  of  Serena,  or  denying  her  ill-success  in  the 
training  of  her  children,  one  may  plead  for  a  favour- 
able verdict  as  to  the  character  of  Placidia.  Her 
love  for  Ataulfus,  her  grief  at  his  death,  her  brave 
endurance  of  the  insults  of  his  murderer,  long  ago 
enlisted  me  on  her  side,  and  now,  after  fully  read- 
ing all  that  her  detractors  have  to  urge  against  her, 
I  look  upon  her  still  as  the  sweetest  and  purest 
figure  of  that  dreary  time. 

Only  one  year  of  happy  married  life  crowned 
the   adventurous   wooing;    and   Ataulph   was 

25 


386       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

treacherously  stabbed.  His  last  words  were, 
"  Restore  Placidia  to  the  Emperor." 

On  her  arrival  in  Ravenna,  Constantius  re- 
newed his  suit.  Again  and  again  Placidia 
rejected  his  addresses,  but  two  years  after 
the  death  of  Ataulph  she  submitted  to  the 
will  of  her  brother,  who  associated  Con- 
stantius with  him  as  joint  Emperor  of 
Rome. 

Two  children,  Valentinian  and  Honoria,  were 
born  to  them,  but  at  thirty-five  years  of  age 
Placidia  was  again  a  widow,  and  nominally 
regent  for  the  seven-year-old  Valentinian,  but 
in  reality  Empress  of  Rome,  "  governing  her 
son  for  twenty-five  years  with  as  much  power 
after  his  succession  as  during  his  minority." 
Dying  at  Rome  a.d.  450,  near  the  sixtieth  year 
of  her  age,  her  body  was  carried  to  Ravenna 
and  entombed  in  the  mortuary  chapel  which 
she  had  built  during  her  life  and  which  is  now 
known  as  the  Church  of  St.  Xazarius  and  St. 
Celsus.  It  is  a  small  domed  buildins^  in  the 
form  of  a  Latin  cross,  glorious  with  those  won- 
derful mosaics  with  Placidia  so  loved  and  with 
which  she  so  prodigally  decorated  three  other 
churches. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  de- 
corative art,"  savs  Svmonds,  "  than  the  mosaics 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  387 

of  the  tomb  of  Galla  Placidia,"  and  Hodgkin 
adds: 

Richness  of  colour  and  deep  metallic  lustre  are 
their  characteristics.  The  columns  are  as  bright,  the 
gilding  as  gorgeous  as  when  first  placed  there  by 
Placidia,  The  dome  is  dark  blue,  studded  with 
golden  stars;  golden  glories  surround  the  heads  of 
the  saints,  whose  garments  are  of  deep  purple  and 
crimson,  and  whose  faces,  though  not  beautiful, 
possess  a  certain  awful  majesty. 

Beneath  the  figure  of  the  Divine  Shepherd  and 
his  flock  [writes  Freeman],  stands  the  sarcophagus, 
where  she  was  placed  sitting  like  Charles  the  Great, 
in  the  robes  of  Empire,  and  beside  her  are  the 
smaller  tombs  of  her  Roman  husband  Constantiu.s 
and  her  son  Valentiniau,  of  all  the  CsBsars  of  East 
and  West  till  the  Imperial  sceptre  passed  away 
into  Northern  hands,  they  alone  lie  in  glory  every 
one  in  his  own  house. 

A  small  orifice  had  been  left  in  the  tomb,  through 
which  for  over  a  thousand  years  Placidia  could  be 
seen  sitting  in  grim  majesty.  Finally,  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  some  children,  the  better  to  light 
this  gruesome  spectacle,  inserted  a  burning  candle 
through  the  peep-hole,  the  Imperial  mantle  caught 
fire  and  the  poor  mummied  vestige  of  the  once 
beautiful  Empress  was  utterly  consumed. 

The   Church  of  Saint  Lawrence  at  ^lilan 


388       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

boasts  the  tomb  of  Ataulph,  to  which  Placidia 
may  have  removed  his  remains  from  their 
earHer  burial-place  in  Barcelona.  Though 
forced  to  marry  Constantius,  Freeman  be- 
lieves  that  her  heart  was  in  the  grave  of 
the  noble  Goth,  whose  followers  continued  to 
form  her  bodyguard  even  after  her  removal 
to  Ravenna,  loyally  fighting  in  her  defence 
when  her  life  was  attempted  by  her  perfidious 
brother. 

Placidia  lavished  her  priceless  mosaics  not 
only  on  the  churches  of  Ravenna,  but  also  on 
San  Paolo  fuori  le  Mura  in  Rome. 

So  brilliant  are  these  enamels  that  the  tradi- 
tion existed  that  the  mosaics  were  formed  from 
the  very  gems  given  her  on  her  marriage  by 
Ataulph.  The  legend  may  well  be  true  in  the 
sense  that  the  Empress  defrayed  the  expense 
of  the  construction  of  the  mosaics  by  the  sale 
of  these  jewels. 

Some  idea  of  that  wedding-gift  may  be 
gained  from  Gibbon,  who  states  that  Alaric 
removed  all  the  golden  vessels  and  jewels  in 
Rome.  Among  these  were  certain  beakers 
which  Titus  had  brought  from  the  temple  of 
Solomon  in  Jerusalem. 

The  plunder  so  gathered  was  in  great  part 
scattered  by  other  spoilers,  only  the  portion 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  389 

given  to  art,  the  mosaics  of  Placidia,  and  the 
Cyclopean  architecture  of  that  masterful  race 
are  immortal.  It  was  in  the  old  cities  of 
Narbonne  and  Carcassonne  that  the  writer  of 
these  romances,  as  she  looked  upon  the  towers 
built  by  Ataulph  upon  Roman  foundations, 
first  realised  the  greatness  of  the  Visigoths. 
They  were  the  frontier  troops  of  Rome  with- 
out whose  co-operation  Aetius  could  not  have 
stayed  the  Huns  at  Chalons-sur-Marne,  the 
bloodiest  battle  ever  fought  in  Europe,  wlien 
Attila  swept  down  with  seven  hundred  thou- 
sand Tartars  to  claim  Honoria  the  daughter  of 
Placidia  as  his  bride. 

Hers  is  a  story  which  melodrama  cannot 
match,  and  one  which,  but  for  lack  of  space, 
should  form  the  sequel  to  that  of  Placidia  and 
Ataulph,  for  it  was  doubtless  in  emulation  of 
her  mother's  romance  that  Honoria  sent  her 
ring  to  Attila,  and  that  the  year  after  Pla- 
cidia's  death  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  men  paid  the  forfeit  of  the  rash  act  of  that; 
wild  young  girl  of  sixteen. 

A  very  different  race  from  the  blond- 
tressed,  great-limbed,  and  great-souled  Goths 
were  the  swarthy  Huns.  Squat  of  figure, 
with  coal-black,  fluttering  elf-locks,  and  rest- 
less  gleaming   eyes,    they   bear   in    the    poet 


390       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Claudian's  description  a  marked  resemblance 
to  our  Apaches. 


This  is  the  race  on  Scythia's  verge  extreme, 
Eastward,  beyond  the  Tanais'  chilly  stream. 
The  Northern  Bear  looks  on  no  uglier  crew; 
Base  is  their  garb,  their  bodies  foul  to  view; 
Their  souls  are  ne'er  subdued  to  sturdy  toil. 
Or  Ceres'  arts :  their  sustenance  is  spoil. 
Not  e'en  the  Centaurs,  offspring  of  the  Cloud, 
Were  horsed  more  firmly  than  this  savage  crowd. 
Brisk,  lithe,  in  loose  array  they  first  come  on, 
Fly,  turn,  attack  the  foe  who  deems  them  gone. 

The  year  following  his  defeat  in  Gaul, 
Attila  invaded  Italy  again,  demanding  Hon- 
oria  and  an  equal  share  in  the  Roman  Empire. 
It  was  then  that  Leo,  Bishop  of  Rome,  met 
him  and  by  his  marvellous  personal  magnetism, 
which  the  Catholic  legend  has  expanded  into 
miracle,  convinced  the  awe-struck  Attila  that 
if  he  conquered  Rome  it  would  be  to  die  as 
Alaric  had  done. 

Abandoning  his  determination  to  marry 
Honoria,  he  retreated  to  his  log-built  palace 
at  Pesth,  and  took  the  same  year  as  his  un- 
willing bride  the  fair  young  Ildico,  the 
Kriemhilde  of  the  Niehelungen  Lied  and 
widow  of  the  hero  Siegfried. 


I 


irmarr 


I 


,♦«  .  fci.'..^ij~" 


A  Roman  Village  Pillaged  by  the  Huns 

From  the  painting  by  G.  Rochegrosse.     By  permission  of  Braun, 

Clement  &  Co. 


i 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  391 

After  the  wedding-feast  his  warriors  de- 
parted, to  find  him  on  the  morrow  dead  upon 
his  couch,  the  blood  gushing  from  his  mouth, 
and  Ildico  a  gibbering  maniac.  There  lacked 
not  those  who  believed  her  an  assassin  in  the 
pay  of  Rome,  but  the  absence  of  any  wound 
upon  the  body  brought  the  conviction  that  the 
chief  had  died  of  hemorrhage. 

INIeredith,  with  the  vividness  of  genius,  pic- 
tures the  controversy  which  followed  this  mys- 
terious tragedy: 

Could  a  little  fist  as  big 
As  the  southern  summer  fig 
Push  a  dagger's  point  to  pierce 
Ribs  like  that? 

Humped  and  grinning  like  a  cat, 
Head  bound  with  its  bridal  wreath, 
She^  the  wild  contention's  cause, 
Combed  her  hair  with  quiet  paws. 

The  historians  are  also  divided  in  their  opin- 
ions, but  their  accounts,  which  differ  so  widely, 
are  not  irreconcilable.  Throats  are  easier  to 
pierce  than  ribs, — might  it  not  be  that  Ildico, 
crazed  with  fear  and  loathing,  darted  one 
swift,  deep  thrust  of  the  poniard  with  which 
she  pinned  her  tresses  between  those  leering, 
lustful  lips,  and  that  the  weapon  withdrawn 


392       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

and  concealed,  none  guessed  the  hidden  wound 
whose  effect  was  so  perfect  a  semblance  of 
natural  death? 

From  this  point  the  names  of  Honoria  and 
Ildico,  the  women  who  instigated  and  ended 
the  invasions  of  the  Huns,  vanish  utterly  from 
history. 

The  Yisigothic  kingdom  which  Ataulph 
received  from  Rome  was  Aquitaine.  It  in- 
cluded the  cities  of  Narbonne,  Carcassonne, 
Bordeaux,  Toulouse,  and  Bourges,  and  ex- 
tended from  the  Rhone  to  the  Atlantic,  and 
from  the  Loire  to  the  Pyrenees.  But  even 
this  extensive  region  was  not  enough  for 
this  irrepressible  race.  Ataulph  himself  be- 
gan the  conquest  of  Spain,  whose  entire  length 
and  breadth  for  three  hundred  years  was 
to  remain  under  the  dominion  of  his  suc- 
cessors until  in  711,  under  Roderic,  the  last 
of  the  Goths,  the  Saracens  drove  them  back 
to  their  Pyrenean  fortresses.  But  though  the 
name  of  the  Visigoths  has  faded  from  France 
that  of  Ataulph  persists  in  many  a  French 
Adolph,  bearing  witness  to  the  passage  of  the 
race  misnamed  Barbarian  who  conquered 
Rome  and  were  themselves  in  turn  conquered 
by  love  of  the  country  which  they  came  to 
devastate.     It  was  with  their  coming  that  the 


The  Necklace  of  Vesta  393 

old  Roman  Empire  with  all  its  power,  its 
tyrann)^  and  luxurious  degeneration,  virtually 
ended,  for  Alaric,  when  he  battered  down  the 
gates  of  Rome,  had  all  unwitingly  opened 
them  to  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
The  name  indeed  lingered  a  little  longer.  "  It 
is  not  an  earthquake  or  a  fire,"  says  Hodgkin, 
"  this  end  of  Roman  rule  over  Italy:  it  is  more 
like  the  gentle  fluttering  down  to  earth  of  the 
last  leaf  from  a  withered  tree."  But  when 
the  actual  power  passed  from  the  feeble  hand 
of  Valentinian  to  the  masterful  grasp  of  Leo, 
a  spiritual  empire  sprang  into  existence  vaster 
and  more  enduring  than  any  won  or  dreamed 
of  by  the  Caesars. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  APOLLO 


We  came  to  the  silent  city,  in  the  glare  of  the  noon- 
tide heat, 

When  the  sound  of  a  whisper  rang  through  the 
length  of  the  lonely  street. 

There  are  shrines  under  these  green  hillocks  to  the 
beautiful  gods  that  sleep, 

Where  they  prayed  in  the  stormy  season  for  lives 
gone  out  on  the  deep. 

Not  ever  again  at  even  shall  ship  sail  in  on  the 
breeze 

Where  the  hulls  of  their  gilded  galleys  came  home 
from  a  hundred  seas. 


But  now  and  again  unburied,  like  some  still  voice 

from  the  dead. 
We  light  on   the  fallen   shoulder  and  the  lines  of 


a  marble  head. 


Rennbll  Rodd. 


394 


o 

a. 
< 

O 

ul 
—I 
Q. 

5 

UJ 

H 


< 

4 


c 


i 


■^ 

^ 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  395 

'T'HE  random  glimpses  which  we  have 
^  caught  in  our  superficial  glance  at  the 
wonderful  period  of  achievement,  the  five 
hundred  years  of  empire  from  Augustus  to 
the  sack  of  Rome  by  the  Goths,  have  been 
necessarily  unsatisfactory.  Not  to  satisfy, 
but  to  whet  the  appetite  has  been  the  author's 
aim.  It  is  as  though  we  had  passed  hastily 
through  the  hall  of  the  Imperial  portrait- 
busts  in  the  museum  of  the  Capitol  noting 
here  and  there  a  compelling  personality,  while 
others  of  equal  importance,  though  clamour- 
ing for  our  attention,  were  unseen. 

But  even  so,  there  stand  conspicuous  among 
our  sins  of  omission  two  groups,  not  negligible 
in  the  most  cursory  review,  for  they  stand  as 
types  of  all  that  was  worst  and  best  in  this 
period,  on  the  one  hand,  the  Satanic  Nero  with 
Agrippina  and  Poppgea;  and  on  the  other 
Marcus  Aurelius,  the  nearest  approach  to  the 
Christian  ideal  which  the  pagan  world  has 
produced, — with  his  beautiful  wife  Faustina, 
the  enigma  of  the  ages. 

Of  Nero  it  is  pardonable  not  to  speak,  since 
of  all  the  emperors  he  has  been  most  studied 
by  scholars  and  most  frequently  presented  by 
novelists  and  poets. 

Even  the  ruins  of  Nero's  famous  Golden 


396       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

House  have  perished,  but  at  his  birthplace, 
Antium,  they  still  show  the  remains  of  the 
Imperial  villa  and  gardens  which  stretched  to 
the  spot  where  the  lighthouse  now  stands,  and 
beneath  the  promontor}^  but  connected  with 
the  gardens  by  a  stairway,  the  Grotto  of  Nero, 
about  M'hich  cling  wilder  and  more  impossible 
legends  than  are  told  of  any  other  spot  in 
Italy. 

The  grotto  antedates  the  time  of  Nero,  for 
this  was  Caligula's  favourite  retreat  and  the 
guides  will  tell  j^ou  that: 

Here  was  once  the  Emperor's  villa, 
Where  he  held  his  darkest  revels, 

And  the  wild  weeds  twine  and  clamber, 
It  Tvas  then  a  chasm  for  devils. 

Here  beautiful  nude  women  personating 
mermaids  acted  aquatic  comedies  with  Tri- 
tons and  sea-monsters  while  Caligula  watched 
them  reclined  upon  a  golden  couch  in  a  gallery 
higher  on  the  wall. 

Into  this  hidden  harbour  too,  scandal  whis- 
pered, the  rising  tide  swept  the  pander-guided 
barge  which  brought  a  new  lover  to  the  un- 
speakable JNlessalina,  wife  of  the  Emperor 
Claudius,  and  the  same  tide  at  its  ebb  carried 


Q 

< 


o 


< 

CO 

CO 

S. 


to 

Q 
< 
O 


f 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  397 

the  body  of  the  Empress's  paramour  to  the 
sea. 

For  INIessalina  was  one  of  those  strong- 
willed  masterful  Roman  women  so  well  de- 
scribed bj^  a  recent  writer/  who  like  the  male 
of  their  kind  were  possessed  of  hot  blood  but 
cold  hearts,  who  judged  money  and  power 
the  chief  goods,  knew  nothing  of  real  love, 
and  while  seeking  the  equivalent  of  their 
mates'  adventures  and  indulging  their  un- 
bounded capacity  for  passion,  despised  its 
object. 

One  night,  to  this  prototype  of  the  Tour  de 
Nesle,  there  was  brought  against  his  will  the 
handsomest  man  in  Rome,  the  dancer  JNInester, 
who  repulsed  the  vile  Empress,  for  he  already 
loved  a  beautiful  woman  named  Popptea.  But 
JNIessalina  loved  him  so  madly  in  despite  of 
his  disdain  that  he  of  all  those  who  found  the 
way  to  that  fatal  assignation  went  forth  alive. 
With  demoniac  cunning,  too  intricate  to  relate 
here,  Messalina  compassed  the  death  of  Pop- 
p^ea,  incidentally  securing  the  gardens  of 
Lucullus  on  the  Pincian  Hill  which  had  long 
been  the  Naboth's  vineyard  of  this  Jezebel. 

But  Poppgea  had  left  a  little  daughter  of 

1 "  The  Roman  Lady,"  Atlantic  Monthly,  by  Emily 
James  Putnam. 


398       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  same  name,  Poppasa  Sabina,  gifted  with 
more  than  her  mother's  radiant  beauty,  in 
combination  with  a  talent  for  intrigue  and 
an  unscrupulous  ambition  which  was  to 
outwit  and  ruin  the  woman  who  was  soon 
to  ruin  JNIessalina.  This  woman,  Agrippina 
the  younger,  niece  of  the  Emperor,  was  even 
now  on  the  watch  at  Antium,  surrounding 
the  Empress  with  her  spies  and  pouring  their 
reports  with  her  own  fabrications  into  the  ear 
of  Claudius,  for  modern  criticism  doubts  that 
even  Messalina,  depraved  as  she  was,  could 
have  been  so  utterly  vile  as  she  is  painted. 
Agrippina  was  laying  her  plots  and  biding  her 
time.  JNInester  on  escaping  from  the  grotto, 
had  taken  refuge  in  her  villa,  told  his  story, 
acted  the  spy,  and  devoted  himself  to  her  ser- 
vice,— and  when  Messalina,  divorced  by  the 
Emperor  (as  JNIerivale  shows) ,  dared  to  marry 
and  was  punished  for  her  bravado  by  death, 
Agrippina  not  onty  seized  her  place,  but 
traduced  her  memorj^ 

This  was  a  necessary  link  in  Agrippina's 
long  chain  of  wickedness.  The  birthright  of 
Messalina's  son,  the  "  high-born  "  Britannicus, 
must  be  thrown  into  suspicion  in  order  that  a 
way  might  be  opened  for  her  own  son  Nero 
to  rule.      Nor  could  she  wait  for  the  course 


BRITANNICUS 
Museum  of  the  Lateran 


ft 

it 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  399 

of  natural  events  to  bring  this  about,  but 
the  murder  of  Claudius  must  hasten  Nero's 
accession. 

Mothers  for  children  have  dared  much, — and  more 
Have  suffered ;  but  what  mother  hath  so  scarred 
Her  soul  for  the  dear  fruit  of  her  body  as  I  ?  ^  she 

asks. 

And  we  may  answer,  no  mother  surely  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  unless  Livia  is  also  an 
example  of  this  same  maniacal  and  criminal 
maternal-love. 

So  genuine  and  intense  it  is,  that  even  Nero 
when  he  has  resolved  upon  her  murder  is 
touched  by  her  reference  to  his  infancy. 

This  seemeth  like  to  old  days  come  again, 
Evenings  of  Antium  with  a  rising  moon. 
My  boy,  my  boy  again !     Look  in  my  eyes. 
So  as  a  babe  would  you  look  up  at  me. 
After  a  night  of  tossing,  half  awake, 
Blinking  against  the  dawn,  and  pull  my  head 
Down  to  you,  till  I  lost  you  in  my  hair. 

And  Nero  was  an  adorable  baby,  such  as 
any  mother  might  weave  ambitious  dreams 
over  and  thank  the  gods  that  she  was  privi- 

1  From  the  Nero  of  Stephen  Phillips. 


400       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

leged  to  give  her  life  for.  It  is  sad  to  note 
the  change  that  comes  to  the  cherub  face  as 
it  grows  into  the  likeness  of  its  mother's, — the 
same  cruel,  scornful,  voracious  mouth,  the 
pursed  under-lip  curled  and  protruding  like 
that  of  a  dolphin,  and  the  same  fish-like  ex- 
pressionless eyes  which  dare  not  reveal  the 
murderous  soul. 

In  his  early  manhood,  before  his  features 
were  moulded  to  hers,  Nero  displayed  many 
lovable  and  admirable  characteristics.  In  the 
garden  of  his  villa  above  the  cavern,  he 
had  set  up  the  magnificent  statue  of  Apollo 
wiiich  he  had  brought  from  Greece,  and 
which  some  unknown  master  carved  as  a  votive 
offering  testifying  the  gratitude  of  the  Del- 
phians  for  the  god's  aid  in  expelling  the  bar- 
barian invaders  from  Greece.  It  w^as  the  statue 
which  we  know  now  as  the  Apollo  Belvedere 
— the  supreme  art-treasure  of  the  Vatican, 
possibly  of  the  entire  world.  It  was  especially 
dear  to  Nero,  for  Apollo  was  his  patron  god, 
the  deity  w^hom  above  all  others  he  worshipped 
and  upon  whose  example  he  patterned  his 
earlier  life.  For  Nero  was  first  of  all  an  art- 
ist and  held  that  genius  was  the  greatest  gift 
the  gods  could  give,  and  an  artist's  vocation 
beyond   comparison   more    glorious   than    the 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  401 

career  of  an  Emperor, — and  who  can  say  that 
in  this  belief  he  honoured  Art  unduly? 

And  Apollo  was  not  the  god  of  the  arts 
alone.  He  was  the  god  of  justice  who  dis- 
charged his  death-dealing  arrows  upon  all  in- 
solent offenders,  he  was  the  guardian  deity  of 
flocks  and  their  shepherds,  the  god  of  medicine, 
of  prophetic  inspiration,  and  the  patron  of  the 
founders  of  cities.  The  ideal  beauty  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  cult  is  manifest  in  Horace's 
prayer  to  Apollo : 

When,  kneeling  at  Apollo's  shrine, 
The  bard  from  silver  goblet  pours 

Libations  due  of  votive  wine, 
What  seeks  he,  what  implores? 

Not  harvests  from  Sardinia's  shore, 
Not  grateful  herds  that  crop  the  lea 

In  hot  Calabria;  not  a  store 
Of  gold  and  ivory. 

Nor  pavs  he  vows  to  Fortune  dear, 

Because  his  laden  argosy 
Crosses,  unshattered,  thrice  a  year 

The  storm-vexed  Midland  sea. 

Kipe  berries  from  the  olive  bough. 
Mallows  and  endives,  be  my  fare, 
Son  of  Latona,  hear  mv  vow! 

7  t. 

Apollo,  grant  my  prayer! 
26 


402       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

Health  to  enjoy  the  blessings  sent 

From  heaven  ;  a  mind  unclouded,  strong; 

A  cheerful  heart;  a  wise  content; 
An  honoured  age;  and  song.i 

But  Nero  had  what  has  come  to  be  recog- 
nised as  the  artist's  temperament  but  is  more 
truly  the  artist's  besetting  temptation — an 
overweening  worship  not  alone  of  his  profes- 
sion but  of  himself.  With  sublime  egotism 
he  believed  himself  inspired  by  Apollo,  the 
highest  exponent  of  intellectual  superiority 
and  culture  which  had  been  granted  to  the 
world.  There  was  but  one  step  further  which 
could  be  taken — to  believe  himself  actually  a 
god,  and  this  he  would  take  later. 

One  person  only,  his  domineering  mother, 
could  hold  his  spirit  in  a  becoming  state  of 
humility.  Before  Agrippina  he  realised  his 
true  insignificance.  When  Burrhus  and  Sen- 
eca, fearing  her  power  in  governmental  af- 
fairs, ushered  in  Poppsea,  pitting  another 
aspiring  woman  against  Agrippina,  they  ef- 
fected her  overthrow,  but  at  the  same  time 
transformed  Nero  from  a  comparatively  harm- 
less artist  into  the  most  malignant  of  tyrants. 

He  was  twenty-two,  married  through  policy 
to    Octavia,    the    daughter    of    Claudius    and 

1  Translated  by  Sir  Stephen  E.  De  Vere. 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  403 

Messalina,  when  he  fell  under  the  influence  of 
Popp^a  Sabina,  whose  mother  had  been  done 
to  death  as  we  remember  by  Octavia's  mother. 
Poppsea  knew  and  remembered  this,  and  also 
that  Agrippina,  whom  she  was  employed  to 
subvert,  would  support  Octavia's  wifely  rights 
by  every  means  in  her  power  since  it  was 
through  her  that  Nero  derived  his  succession 
to  the  Empire. 

Poppgea  had  both  the  mother  and  wife  as 
rivals  but  supplanted  both.  We  know  her 
from  the  Clytie  of  the  British  Museum  and 
better  from  an  engraved  gem  which  shows 
that  Phillips's  description  of  her  beauty  is  not 
overdrawn : 

A  woman  without  pity,  beautiful, 

She  makes  the  earth  we  tread  on  false,  the  heaven 

A  merest  mist,  a  vapour.     Yet  her  face 

Is  as  the  face  of  a  child  uplifted  pure; 

But  plead  with  lightning  rather  than  those  eyes. 

Her  voice 
Comes  running  on  the  ear  as  a  rivulet ; 
Yet  if  you  hearken,  you  shall  hear  behind 
The  breaking  of  a  sea  whose  waves  are  souls. 
That  break  upon  a  human-crying  beach. 
Ever  she  smileth,  yet  hath  never  smiled. 
And  in  her  lovely  laughter  is  no  joy. 

Nero  loved  her  passionately  at  sight,  but 


404       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

dared  not  divorce  Octavia  and  marry  her  while 
his  mother  lived. 

Instead  he  caused  her  to  be  married,  in  ap- 
pearance only,  to  his  most  intimate  friend,  the 
gallant  Otho,  that  he  might  always  have  her 
near  him.  Otho  also  fell  in  love  with  the 
woman  who  was  so  intimately  associated  with 
him,  but  over  whom  he  had  not  the  slightest 
of  the  rights  on  which  the  world  congratulated 
him,  and  he  was  instantly  promoted  to  the  gov- 
ernorship of  the  distant  province  of  Lusitania. 

Then  Agrippina's  oft-described  dramatic 
death  was  planned.  She  had  been  visiting  her 
son  at  his  villa  at  Baia,  and  was  being  con- 
veyed to  her  own  across  the  Lucrine  lake  in 
a  pinnace  arranged  with  devilish  ingenuity 
to  founder  when  in  mid-course.  The  sailors 
took  to  the  small  boat,  and  when  Agrippina's 
maid  cried  to  them  to  save  her,  declaring  that 
she  was  the  Empress,  they  held  her  down  with 
their  oars  until  she  was  drowned. 

It  availed  Agrippina  nothing  that  in  the 
obscurity  she  was  able  to  swim  to  shore  and 
so  reach  her  home,  for  here  Nero's  soldiers 
found  and  murdered  her. 

One  servitor  alone  was  faithful  to  her,  the 
dancer  ]Mnester,  who  strove  to  defend  her  and 
killed  himself  upon  her  tomb. 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  405 

In  the  scene  in  which  the  assassins  bring 
Nero  the  news  of  his  mother's  death,  Phillips 
allows  Nero  one  touch  of  human  remorse,  in 
which  he  reverts  to  the  memories  of  his  child- 
hood which  she  had  evoked: 

What  catches  at  my  heart? 
I — I  her  boy,  her  baby  that  was,  even  I 
Have  killed  her;  where  I  sucked  there  have  I  struck. 
Mother!  Mother! 

Oh,  all  the  artist  in  my  soul  is  shattered, 
I  can  no  more  endure  it.  Mother ! 

With  that  cry  he  possibly  went  mad,  for 
his  mother's  death  marks  the  turning  point 
in  his  career,  thereafter  one  of  insensate  de- 
bauchery and  cruelty.  Octavia  is  disgraced 
and  beheaded,  Poppaa  wedded  and  made 
Empress,  then  two  short  years  whose  insane 
wickedness  can  neither  be  related  nor  for- 
gotten, culminating  in  the  burning  of  Rome, 
and  the  imputation  of  the  crime  to  a  company 
of  innocent  foreign  religionists  "  to  whom  the 
vulgar  gave  the  name  of  Christians,"  and  their 
punishment  which  Tacitus  describes  with  such 
powerful  simplicity. 

Their  name  [he  says]  was  derived  from  one  Chris- 
tus,  who  was  executed  in  the  reign  of  Tiberius  by 


4o6      Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  procurator  of  Judea,  Pontius  Pilate.  This  ac- 
cursed superstition  spread  not  over  Judea  only,  but 
the  city  also  (Rome),  whither  all  things  vile  and 
shameful  find  room  and  reception.  Accordingly  a 
vast  number  were  convicted  not  so  much  on  the 
charge  of  burning,  as  for  their  general  hatred  of 
mankind.  Their  execution  was  accompanied  with 
mockery.  They  were  wrapped  in  skins  to  be  torn 
in  pieces  by  dogs,  or  crucified  and  thus  set  on  fire 
to  serve  as  torches  by  night.  Nero  lent  his  own 
gardens  for  the  spectacle  and  gave  a  chariot  race 
on  the  occasion,  actually  holding  the  reins  in  the 
garb  of  a  driver.  The  populace,  however,  with  their 
usual  levity  turned  to  compassion  for  the  suf- 
ferers, justly  odious  though  they  were  held  to  be; 
for  they  felt  that  it  was  not  for  their  actual  guilt 
that  they  were  punished,  but  to  glut  the  ferocity 
of  a  tyrant. 

The  year  before  A^ero's  marriage  to  Poppasa, 
St.  Paul  arrived  in  Rome  and  lived  under  the 
care  of  a  centurion  two  whole  years  "  in  his 
own  hired  house,"  near  the  palace.  Under 
his  preaching  Christianity  had  received  the 
wonderful  impulse  which  brought  its  con- 
fessors, hitherto  obscure,  into  prominence.  The 
fear  of  death  did  not  restrain  them.  "  They 
had  trial  of  cruel  mockings  and  scourgings. 
They  were  stoned,  they  were  sawn  asunder, 
were  tempted,  were  slain  with  the  sword,  they 
wandered   in   dens    and   caves    of   the   earth, 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  407 

being  destitute,  afflicted,  tormented— of  whom 
the  world  was  not  worthy." 

Many  of  Cassar's  household  were  converted, 
among  these  Acte,  and  Flavins  Clemens,  re- 
ferred to  by  St.  Paul,—"  Clement  with  others, 
my  fellow-labourers  whose  names  are  in  the 
book  of  life." 

For  a  Uttle  space  the  martyrdom  of  Clemens 
was  deferred.  He  lived  to  be  third  Pope,  or 
Bishop  of  Rome,  for  he  has  been  identified 
as  Clemens  Romanus,  or  St.  Clement,  the  most 
lovable  of  the  early  fathers  of  the  Church, 
who  was  fastened  to  a  great  anchor  and 
drowned  by  order  of  his  cousin,  the  Emperor 
Domitian,  "  on  a  charge,"  says  Dion  Cassius, 
"  of  atheism,  for  which  many  others  who  went 
over  to  Jewish  opinions  were  executed." 

Nero  strove  to  regain  his  lost  popularity  by 
rebuilding  Rome  with  greater  splendour,  and 
by  festivals  of  unparalleled  magnificence  and 
license.  After  the  conclusion  of  one  of  these 
orgies,  Tacitus  continues,  Poppeea  died,  killed 
by  the  chance  violence  of  her  brutal  husband, 
who  kicked  her  when  crazed  with  drink, 
and  not  from  mere  hatred,  for  he  was 
greatly  enamoured  of  his  wife.  He  would 
not  allow  her  beautiful  body  to  be  burned, 
but  embalmed  it  after  the  manner  of  foreign 


4o8        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

kings    and   himself    pronounced   her    funeral 
eulogy. 

Before  this  tragedy  occurred,  Nero  must 
have  felt  himself  forsaken  by  the  gods,  for  in 
that  sea  of  flame  which  raged  for  nine  days 
through  the  heart  of  Rome,  many  of  the  tem- 
ples of  the  chief  divinities  were  swept  away 
and  their  effigies  burned.  After  building  his 
Golden  House,  he  endeavoured  to  reconstruct 
the  shrines,  filling  them  with  statues  taken 
from  the  temples  of  Greece,  at  the  same 
time  sending  to  Antium  for  his  treasured 
Apollo. 

The  messengers  sought  for  it  in  the  garden- 
shrine,  but  it  had  vanished.  Some  slight 
tremor  or  the  gradual  caving  in  of  the  earth 
had  precipitated  the  heavy  statue  into  the 
grotto  of  ISIessalina  and  had  buried  it  under 
tons  of  debris. 

Unable  or  unwilHng  to  attempt  its  excava- 
tion, the  agents  of  Nero  returned,  filling  him 
with  consternation  by  the  report  that  AiJollo 
had  fled!  Then  came  the  announcement  from 
Delphi  of  the  silence  of  the  oracles  of  Apollo : 
"  Delphis  oracula  cessant."  After  that  the 
desertion  of  the  Senate  and  of  the  praetorians 
and  his  own  downfall  and  death  must  have 
seemed  to  Nero  only  the  consequence  of  the 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  409 

god's  repudiation  of  the  votary  who  had  in- 
sulted him  by  a  pretence  of  worship. 


II 


I  saw  a  calm  and  princely  presence  come 
Who  stately  as  the  imperial  purple  bore 
His  robe, — but  trod  no  less 
The  toilsome  path  of  Duty  to  the  end. 
And  as  he  passed,  I  knew  the  kingly  ghost 
Of  Antonius,  who  knew  not  Christ  indeed, 
Yet  not  the  less  was  His.     I  marked  the  calm 
And  thoughtful  face  of  him  who  ruled  himself 
And  through  himself  the  world. 

Lewis  Morris. 

It  is  a  relief  to  turn  from  a  study  of  Nero 
to  Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  the  successor 
and  son-in-law  of  Antoninus  Pius,  who  shared 
with  that  Emperor  the  honour  of  giving  to 
Rome  that  beneficent  period  of  rule  known 
as  "  the  Happy  Antonines." 

"  For  one  moment,"  writes  Renan,  "  the 
world  was  governed  by  the  best  and  greatest 
man  of  his  age.  Frightful  decadences  fol- 
lowed, but  the  book  of  Thoughts — that 
evangel  of  those  who  believe  not  in  the  super- 
natural— was  saved." 

In  it  he  takes  all  mankind  into  his  heart 
with  an  almost  divine  comprehensiveness  of 


410       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

understanding,  sympathy,  and  love;  and  a 
tolerance  for  the  erring  which  is  marvellous 
in  one  who  himself  wore 

the  white  flower  of  a  blameless  life 
Before  a  thousand  peering  littlenesses 
In  that  fierce  light  which  beats  upon  a  throne. 

The  central  glory  of  the  reign  of  the  Antonines 
[writes  Walter  Pater,  who  has  best  analysed  for 
us  the  character  of  Marcus  Aurelius]  was  that  so- 
ciety had  attained  in  it,  though  very  imperfectly, 
many  of  those  ends  to  which  Christianity  went 
straight  with  the  success  of  a  direct  instinct.  Pagan 
Rome  now  had  its  charity  sermons,  and  its  charity 
children  in  long  file  in  memory  of  the  Empress 
Faustina ;  and  for  a  charmed  hour,  there  was  no 
shedding  of  Christian  blood. 

The  Church  emerged  from  the  catacombs  and 
flowered  in  the  sunlight  with  a  joyous  hopeful- 
ness, which  forms  a  striking  contrast  to  the 
heroic  but  melancholy  philosophy  that  cast  its 
shadow  on  the  soul  of  the  purest  and  most 
conscientious  of  the  Roman  emperors. 

The  sculptor  William  Wetmore  Story,  who 
lived  so  long  in  Rome  that  the  winsome  per- 
sonality of  the  great  Emperor  was  as  familiar 
to  him  as  that  of  a  loved  acquaintance,  brings 
it  before  us  vividly  as  he  dreams  of  him  one 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  41 1 

evening  after  succumbing  to  the  spell  of  the 
Meditations.  "  There  he  stood  before  me," 
he  writes,  "  as  I  knew  him  from  his  busts 
and  statues,  with  his  full  brow  and  eyes, 
his  sweet  mouth  and  curling  hair,  now  a  little 
grizzled  with  age,  and  a  deep  meditative  look 
of  tender  earnestness  on  his  face." 

Most  enviable  is  his  memory;  he  held  men's 
hearts  while  he  lived,  and  will  always  hold 
them; — but  what  shall  we  think  of  his  beauti- 
ful wife,  Faustina  the  younger,  or  of  her 
mother  of  the  same  name,  the  wife  of  An- 
toninus Pius? 

Of  the  latter  we  have  already  spoken  while 
sketching  the  Villa  of  Hadrian  at  Tivoh.^ 

It  is  of  Faustina  and  of  Marcus  Aurelius, 
and  not  of  the  builder  of  the  villa,  that  we 
think  when  we  visit 

The  vast  and  inelanclioly  pleasnre-gronnd 
Where  the  forgotten  monarch  comes  no  more. 

Though  Hadrian  built  it  with  more  of  extrava- 
gance than  Nero  indulged  in  in  his  Golden 
House,  and  its  ruins  have  furnished  modern 
museums  with  an  inexhaustible  quarry  of 
sculpture,  there  is  no  apartment  among  the 

ifSee  Romance  of  Roman  Villas  (The  Renaissance). 


412       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

five  thousand  square  miles  of  mosaic-paved 
rooms  which  so  appeals  to  us  as  a  dainty 
palazzita  which  may  have  been  the  casket 
which  held  the  jewel  Faustina. 

It  is  a  small  colonnaded  building  once 
islanded  by 

clear  streams  trickling  down 
O'er  wondrous  gem-like  pebbles  green  and  brown, 
Betwixt  smooth  banks  of  marble,  and  therein 
Bright-coloured  fish  shone  through  the  water  thin. 

It  has  been  called  a  natatorium,  but  has 
been  proved  to  be  a  dainty  villa  within  the 
villa,  a  home  within  the  palace  shut  off  by  a 
moat  and  screened  by  aquatic  plants  from  the 
importunities  and  prying  gaze  of  courtiers. 

To  Faustina  herself,  writers  of  every  age 
owe  the  apology  made  by  Horace  to  another, 
"  Mater  pulchra  filia  pulchrior  " : 

Blest  with  a  charming  mother,  yet 

Thou  still  more  fascinating  daughter, 
Prithee  m^'  vile  lampoons  forget — 
Give  to  the  flames  the  libel — let 
The  satire  sink  in  Adria's  water. 

A  flagrant  sinner  in  this  respect  is  Swin- 
burne, who  arraigns  her  in  scathing  invective 
in  his  Ave  Faustina  Imperatrioc: 


HADRIAN 
Museum  of  the  Vatican 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  413 

Let  me  go  over  your  good  gift.s 

That  crown  you  queen, 
A  queen  whose  kingdom  ebbs  and  shifts, 

Each  week,  Faustine. 

I  know  what  queen  at  first  you  were. 

As  though  I  had  seen 
Bed  gold,  and  black  imperious  hair. 

Twice  crown  Faustine, 

That  clear  hair  heavily  bound  back, 

The  lights  wherein 
Shift  from  dead  blue  to  burnt-up  black 

And  hard  bright  chin. 

If  one  should  love  you  with  real  love. 

Such  things  have  been, 
Things  your  fair  face  knows  nothing  of. 

It  seems,  Faustine. 

You  could  do  all  things  but  be  good, 

Or  chaste  of  mien ; 
And  that  you  would  not  if  you  could. 

We  know,  Faustine. 

Was  life  worth  living  then?  and  now. 

Is  life  worth  sin? 
Where  are  the  imperial  years,  and  how 

Are  you,  Faustine? 

We  may  discount  Swinburne's  estimate  of 
her  character,  for  the  art  of  the  poet  as  well 
as  that  of  the  painter  is  nature  seen  through 


414       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

the  lenses  of  temperament,  but  the  most  cruel 
blow  of  all  is  dealt  to  poor  Faustina  by  the 
gentle  Walter  Pater.  He,  too,  follows  the 
beaten  track,  admitting  the  scandal-mongers 
of  her  time  to  evidence,  and  leaving  her  in- 
nocence a  matter  of  doubt.  In  his  scholarly 
presentation,  Marius  first  meets  the  Empress 
in  her  own  home  surrounded  by  her  children, 
as  she  warms  her  hands  over  a  fire. 


With  her  long  fingers  lighted  up  red  by  the  glow- 
ing coals  of  the  brazier  Marius  looked  close  upon 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  who  was 
also  the  great  paradox  of  the  age.  She  had  the  air 
of  one  curious,  restless,  and  had  certainly  the  power 
of  stimulating  a  very  ambiguous  sort  of  curiosity 
about  herself.  The  lad  [Commodus]  who  stood  be- 
side her  was  in  outward  appearance  his  father  over 
again,  but  with  a  certain  feminine  length  of  fea- 
ture, and  with  all  his  mother's  alertness  or  license 
of  gaze. 

Yet  (rumour  asked),  was  not  that  likeness  of  the 
husband,  in  the  boy  beside  her,  really  the  effect  of 
a  shameful  magic  in  which  the  blood  of  the  mur- 
dered gladiator,  his  true  father,  had  been  an  in^ 
gredient?  Were  the  tricks  for  deceiving  husbands 
really  hers?  Or  was  Aurelius  aware,  like  every  one 
else  beside? 

He  would  seem  at  least  to  have  kept  her  by  a 
constraining  affection  from  becoming  altogether 
what  most  people  believed   and   to  have   found   in 


11P5P 


m^^^ 


TABLE  OF  REFERENCE 

— » — 

I    GrccJu  TAeatre. 

3  J^cvtin.  Th-eaire, 
h  Tej-royccs 

6  Goloiero Pia.7i-z,ci. 

7  Lihrcwic^ 

9  HcLsLlica. 
\QWalL  orOie^rcecUe, 
II  CerUa  Qxmerellc 
\Z  S'tauiuuTV 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  415 

her  a  consolation  the  more  secure  because  misknown 
of  others.  Was  the  secret  of  her  actual  blameless- 
ness  after  all  with  him  who  has  at  least  screened 
her  name?  At  all  events  the  one  thing  quite  cer- 
tain about  her,  besides  her  extraordinary  beauty,  is 
her  sweetness  to  himself. 

There  are  other  slight  touches  scattered 
through  Pater's  delightful  book  which  make 
her  personality  more  vivid,  as  she  sits  in  the 
great  amphitheatre  beside  the  Vestal  Virgins, 
the  sunshine  filtering  through  the  vela  upon 
her  golden  hair  and  the  maze  of  double- 
coloured  gems  which  change  as  she  moves  like 
the  waves  of  the  sea. 

The  thrill  of  pent-up  excitement  trembles 
along  her  nerves  and  sparkles  in  her  eyes,  for 
the  populace  are  singing  that  song  para- 
phrased by  Bulwer — of  which  the  Toreador  of 
Carmen  is  but  a  faint  echo: 

Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry,  merry  show, 

With  a  forest  of  faces  in  every  row, 

Lo !  the  swordsmen  bold  as  the  son  of  Alcmaena 

Sweep  side  by  side  o'er  the  hushed  arena. 

Talk  while  you  may,  you  will  hold  your  breath 

W^hen  they  meet  in  the  grasp  of  the  glowing  death. 

Tramp!  tramp!  how  gaily  they  go! 

Ho !  ho !  for  the  merry  show. 

She  is  gazing  with  delight  upon  the  sword- 


41 6       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

play  of  the  gladiators,  her  little  teeth  bite  the 
cherry  under-lip,  for  we  cannot  deny  Swin- 
burne's assertion  that: 

She  loved  the  games  men  played  with  death, 

Where  death  must  win, 
As  though  the  slain  man's  blood  and  breath 

Revived  Faustine. 

Nets  caught  the  pike,  pikes  tore  the  net, 

Lithe  limbs  and  lean, 
From  drained-out  pores  dropped  thick  red  sweat 

To  soothe  Faustine. 

This  was,  however,  the  universal  uncriticised 
amusement  of  the  time.  Story,  in  his  essay 
on  the  Colosseum,  which  bloodthirsty.  Im- 
perial Rome  built  in  her  last  days  of  pride, 
makes  us  realise  better  than  any  other  author, 
how  emperors,  senators,  and  knights,  and 
noblewomen  as  well  as  the  lowest  populace 
groaned  together  as  the  old  favourite  fell  and 
startled  the  eagles  sailing  over  the  blue  vault 
with  their  wild  cries  of  triumph,  as  the  new 
favourite  won. 

Gerome's  famous  picture  tells  us  what  the 
spectacle  was  like  in  the  reign  of  Domitian 
and  up  to  the  prohibition  of  gladiatorial  shows 
by  Constantine.  A  little  group  of  gladi- 
ators is  pausing  before  the  Emperor  to  declaim 


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The  Flight  of  Apollo  417 

the  accustomed  speech,  "  Ave,  Imperator  mori- 
turi  te  salutant!"  The  benches  are  crowded 
row  above  row  with  spectators  eager  for  the 
struggle,  heedless  of  the  dead  bodies  of  man 
and  beast  that  slaves  are  dragging  out  of  the 
arena  with  grappling  irons. 

Many  of  these  gladiators  were  from  Gaul, 
handsome  men,  taller  than  the  Italians,  their 
limbs  moulded  like  those  of  antique  statues, 
hthe,  agile,  brave,  marvellous  swordsmen. 
They  were  usually  young.  One  did  not  live 
long  in  this  hazardous  profession.  Some  at 
least  were  of  good  birth  and  trained  in  other 
arts  than  those  of  the  arena. 

Among  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombs  of 
Nimes,  there  is  one  to  such  a  gentle  gladiator : 

Stay  thy  steps  [it  entreats  of  us]  thou  pious 
traveller  to  learn  from  these  lines  the  jealousy 
of  fate.  For  nineteen  years  I  lived,  pure,  and  doing 
no  harm  to  any  one,  and  my  character  won  me  the 
esteem  of  all.  Eager  to  learn  I  was,  well  trained 
for  the  amphitheatre.  I  was  the  famous  Pulcher; 
and  with  various  weapons  I  appeared  in  combat 
against  the  wild  beasts.  Besides  that  I  knew  some- 
what of  the  art  of  medicine.  I  was  a  colleague  not 
only  of  those  who  had  charge  of  the  bears,  but  also 
of  those  who  slew  the  victims  at  the  public  sacrifices, 
and  who  decorated  the  statues  of  the  gods  with 
garlands  at  the  first  of  every  spring.     The  inscrip- 

27 


4t8       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

tion  tells  you  my  right  name.  This  was  set  up 
by  Sextus  Julius  Felicissimus  and  by  Sextus  Felix, 
to  their  unrivalled  pupil,  and  to  her  brother  by 
Felicitas. 

It  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  INIar- 
cus  Aurelius  himself,  to  attempt  to  do  away 
with  these  sports,  and  Pater  very  justly  ar- 
raigns him  for  acquiescence  in  the  brutal 
cruelty  of  his  age: 

The  Emperor  had  sat  impassibly  through  such  an 
exhibition,  for  the  most  part  indeed  with  averted 
eyes,  reading  or  writing,  but  after  all  indifferent. 
There  was  something  in  tolerance  such  as  this  which 
to  the  merciful  angry  heart  of  Marius  seemed  to 
show  Aurelius  lacking  in  conscience.  Surely  evil 
was  a  real  thing  and  not  to  have  been  by  instinctive 
election  on  the  right  side  was  to  have  failed  in  life. 

In  the  casino  of  the  Villa  Albani,  there  is 
a  seated  full-length  statue  of  the  Empress 
Faustina  which  may  represent  her  as  she  sat 
in  the  amphitheatre.  She  is  robed  with  ex- 
treme simplicity  and  wears  her  own  hair, 
waved  in  that  surprising  modern  mode.  She 
wears  no  jewels,  not  even  a  great  pearl  in  the 
tiny  ear,  and  she  is  watching  the  spectacle  with 
no  wild  enthusiasm,  but  with  a  troubled  ex- 
pression on  her  sweet,  girlish  face. 


COMMODUS,    WITH  THE   ATTRIBUTES  OF   HERCULES 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  419 

Her  head  is  inclined  a  little  as  though 
weighed  down  by  melancholy  thoughts,  and 
her  forefinger  taps  her  cheek — one  can  almost 
see  the  movement — in  a  distraught  fashion 
which  suggests  a  sombre  resignation,  the 
patient  bearing  of  the  burden  of  a  sad 
heart.  Is  she  reflecting  on  the  impossibility 
of  stemming  public  opinion,  or  upon  the 
mania  of  her  son  for  taking  part  in  these 
games? 

The  miserable  retailers  of  anecdotes,  says 
Duruy,  who  in  the  third  century  wrote  the 
history  of  the  Caesars,  took  pleasure  in  scan- 
dal. Commodus,  having  been  less  a  prince 
than  a  gladiator,  was  supposed  to  be  the  son 
of  a  hero  of  the  arena,  but  to  this  slander,  his 
likeness  to  Marcus  Aurelius  gives  the  lie.  The 
mother  paid  the  debt  of  her  son's  cruelties. 
Many  another  good  man  has  moulded  his  own 
face  by  means  of  a  pure  life  and  high  men- 
tality, and  has  handed  it  down  to  a  degenerate 
son  who  masks  behind  it  a  vacant  mind  and 
an  evil  soul. 

Doubtless  disappointment  in  his  son's  char- 
acter was  a  prime  factor  in  that  expression 
of  a  man  already  defeated  with  which  he  set 
forth  for  the  campaign  on  the  Danube,  the 
dejection  which  Pater  remarks: 


420        Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

grown  to  an  expression  of  sufifering,  all  the  stranger 
from  its  contrast  with  the  magnificent  gold  and 
silver  armour  of  Hadrian.  That  ancient  suit  of 
armour  was  almost  the  only  object  Aurelius  now 
possessed  of  the  articles  of  vertu  collected  by  the 
Caesars.  Money  was  lacking  for  the  war,  and  the 
Imperial  ornaments  and  furniture,  a  sumptuous  col- 
lection of  gems  formed  by  Hadrian,  with  many  works 
01  the  most  famous  painters  and  sculptors  and  the 
wardrobe  of  the  Empress  Faustina,  who  seems  to 
have  borne  the  loss  without  a  murmur,  were  exposed 
for  auction. 

She  had  accompanied  her  husband  on  so 
many  of  his  campaigns  that  she  had  won  from 
the  soldiers  the  title  of  "Mother  of  the  camps," 
and  she  went  with  him  now.  While  in  Ger- 
many, word  was  brought  that  Aurelius  Cas- 
sius,  head  of  the  troops  of  Asia,  had  revolted 
and,  circulating  the  rumour  of  the  Emperor's 
death,  had  caused  himself  to  be  proclaimed 
Augustus.  Marcus  Aurelius  immediately  set 
out  for  the  East  to  quell  the  revolt.  Faustina 
accompanied  him  and  died  suddenly  in  his 
arms,  while  the  army  was  in  camp  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  Taurus,  just  as  his  victory  over  Cas- 
sius  was  assured  by  the  surrender  of  a  large 
contingent  of  the  revolting  troops,  who  placed 
in  the  hands  of  the  Emperor  a  casket  contain- 
ing the  papers  of  their  traitorous  general. 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  421 

So  far  we  follow  authentic  history,  hut  those 
who  calumniated  the  Empress  during  life 
spread  the  slander  that  in  this  casket  were 
letters  written  hy  her  to  Cassius  inciting  him 
to  revolt  by  the  offer  of  her  hand,  and  that, 
—not  knowing  that  her  husband  had  burned 
the  papers  unread,  she  had  believed  her  com- 
pHcity  discovered,  and  had  committed  suicide 
by  stabbing  herself  with  a  poisoned  hair-pin. 

The  letter  of  ^Marcus  Aurelius  to  the  Senate, 
recommending  Cassius  to  mercy,  is  extant  and 
disproves  the  story.  The  officers  of  the  le- 
gions, learning  that  they  had  been  deceived 
by  Cassius  in  the  announcement  of  the  death 
of  the  Emperor,  forestalled  his  clemency  by 
assassinating  their  general,  sending  his  head 
to  Aurelius,  who  refused  to  see  them  or 
their  horrible  gift,  and  lamented  that  the  Fates 
had  not  granted  him  his  fondest  wish— to  have 
received  Cassius  hving  that  he  might  have  won 
his  friendship. 

Thenceforward  the  life  of  INIarcus  Aurelius 
was  lonely  and  sad.  He  foresaw  the  troubles 
which  were  gathering  for  Rome  both  within 
and  without  the  Empire,  and  he  understood 
fully  his  own  helplessness  in  averting  them, 
both  on  account  of  the  untoward  nature  of 
the  people  whom  he  governed  and  the  briefness 


422       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

of  time  granted  him  in  which  to  aceomphsh 
the  ends  for  which  he  longed.  Yet  none  the 
less  he  fought  a  losing  fight  gallantly  to  the 
end,  and  as  he  felt  that  end  approaching, 
writes  trustfully: 

Finally,  why  complain  at  the  brevity  of  life?  As 
though  an  actor,  discontented  with  his  role,  should 
say.  But  I  have  not  finished  the  five  acts,  but  only 
three,  since  what  shall  be  the  complete  drama  is 
determined  by  him  who  was  the  cause  of  its  com- 
position. Depart,  then,  satisfied,  since  he  who  re- 
leases thee  is  satisfied. 

For  him  Apollo  and  the  old  pantheism  had 
fled,  but  a  vision,  vague  as  his  who  sees 
through  a  glass  darkly,  had  been  granted  him 
of  the  true  God — an  apprehension  of  the  divine 
providence  which  extends  even  beyond  the 
grave,  for  he  writes  with  confidence,  touching 
the  immortality  of  the  soul: 

How  can  it  be  that  the  gods  after  having  arranged 
all  things  well  and  benevolently  for  mankind,  can 
have  overlooked  this  alone,  that  good  men  when 
they  have  died  should  never  exist  again,  but  should 
then  be  completely  extinguished? 

What  could  be  more  charitable  and  tender 
than  his  consideration  for  wrong-doers? 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  423 

The  gods  are  not  vexed  because  they  must  tolerate 
bad  men — they  also  care  for  them.  If  men  do  not 
right  it  is  plain  that  they  do  so  involuntarily 
through  ignorance.  Consider  that  thou  also  doest 
many  things  wrong  and  even  if  thou  dost  abstain 
from  certain  faults  still  thou  hast  the  disposition 
to  commit  them,  though  through  cowardice  or  con- 
cern about  reputation  or  some  such  mean  motive, 
thou  dost  abstain.  Consider  that  thou  dost  not 
even  understand  whether  men  are  doing  wrong  or 
not,  for  many  things  are  done  with  a  certain  refer- 
ence to  circumstances,  and  a  man  must  learn  a  great 
deal  to  enable  him  to  pass  a  correct  judgment  on 
another's  acts.  Teach  them  then  or  bear  with  them. 
For  what  will  the  most  violent  do  if  thou  continuest 
to  be  of  a  kind  disposition  toward  him  and  gently 
correctest  his  errors,  saying :  Not  so,  my  child  :  we 
are  constituted  by  nature  for  something  else, — and 
not  in  the  way  of  reproach,  but  affectionately  when 
he  is  alone  with  thee— for  it  is  peculiar  to  man  to 
love  even  those  who  do  wrong. 

In  the  light  of  this  limitless  charity,  INIarius 
seems  to  us  not  only  unchivalric  but  mistaken 
as  in  the  deserted  pavilion  of  Faustina  he 
muses. 

Surely  that  marvellous  but  malign  beauty  must 
still  haunt  those  rooms,  like  an  unquiet  dead  god- 
dess, who  might  have  perhaps  after  all  something 
reassuring  to  tell  about  her  ambiguous  self.  When, 
two  years  since,  the  news  had  reached  Rome  that 


424       Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

those  eyes,  always  so  persistently  turned  to  vanity, 
had  suddenly  closed  for  ever,  a  strong  desire  to 
pray  had  come  over  Marius,  as  he  had  followed  in 
fancy  on  its  wild  way  the  soul  of  one  he  had 
spoken  with  now  and  again,  and  whose  presence  in 
it  for  a  time  the  world  of  art  could  so  ill  have 
spared.  Certainly  the  honours  freely  accorded  to 
embalm  her  memory  were  poetic  enough, — the  rich 
temple  left  among  those  wild  villagers  at  the  spot 
where  she  had  breathed  her  last;  the  golden  image 
in  her  old  place  at  the  amphitheatre;  the  altar  at 
which  the  newly  married  might  make  their  sacrifice; 
above  all  the  great  foundation  for  orphan  girls  to 
be  called  after  her  name. 

Shall  not  the  love  which  sheltered  Faustina 
in  life  vindicate  her  through  all  time  as  we 
read  in  her  husband's  reverent  expression  of 
thanksgiving  to  the  gods,  "  who  had  given  him 
a  wife  so  obedient,  so  affectionate,  and  so 
simple  "  ? 

In  Provence,  where  so  many  monuments  of 
Roman  rule  still  linger,  I  found  a  startling 
blending  of  pagan  and  Christian  legends,  one 
of  which  may  serve  as  an  allegory  of  the  de- 
sire of  the  early  Church  to  take  into  its  heart 
all  of  the  sinning,  suffering,  and  repentant  ones 
of  earth.  It  is  reverently  believed  in  the  little 
town  of  Les  Saintes  JNIaries,  near  Aries,  that 
hither  soon  after  the  crucifixion  came  sailing 


The  Flight  of  Apollo  425 

over  the  seas,  Mary,  the  Mother  of  our  Lord, 
Mary  of  Bethany,  and  Mary  Magdalene, — 
attended  by  St.  Maximin.  And  here  they 
built  a  church  and  converted  many  to  Christ; 
but  the  Magdalene  lived  apart  from  the  others 
in  a  grotto  (still  shown),  making  it  a  hospice 
for  such  as  were  cast  out  to  die  of  contagious 
maladies,  and  lamenting  unceasingly  her  long- 
past  evil  life.  But  when  she  died  they  gave 
her  imperial  burial  in  the  mausoleum  of  the 
Julii  at  St.  Remy,  for  she  was  none  other 
than  Julia,  the  erring  daughter  of  Augustus, 
who  had  escaped  from  the  prison  of  Scylla  and 
found  her  way  to  the  Saviour. 

Can  we  not  take  one  step  further  and, 
"  thinking  no  evil,"  believe  these  dear  dead 
ladies  not  sinners,  but  sinned  against  by  evil 
tongues  ? 


ENVOI 

To  A  Young  Girl 
By  Mary  Burt  Messer 
Dear,  yon  are  grave  and  silent  as  yon  look 
Up  from  the  qniet  pages  of  yonr  book. 
Put  by  your  care. 

Bright  is  the  sunlight  falling  on  your  hair. 
Has  some  old  legend  told  its  ancient  woe? 
— Nay,  it  was  lives  ago. 

Grieve  not,  but  let  your  gladness  lightly  run 
In  happy  ripples,  glancing  in  the  sun. 
If  you  but  knew! 

I  see  the  morning  of  the  world  in  you. 
I  see  life  upward  springing, 
Light  round  you  clinging, 
And  in  your  eyes  the  dew. 
And  if  into  our  fair  companionship 
Out  of  the  pages  of  the  tale  should  slip 
Some  hint  of  sadness — put  the  story  by ! 
Lo,  let  them  pass,  world-weary  queens  and  kings. 
Rise,  rise  rejoicing,  like  the  lark  that  sings, 
Cleaving  the  misty  sky.^ 

1  With  kind  permission  of  the  author  and  the  Century 
Magazine. 

426 


Jl  Selection  from  the 
Catalogue  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


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on  application 


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Romance  of 
the  Renaissance  Chateaux 

With  40  jDhotogravure  and  other  illustrations 

Romance  of  the  French  Abbeys 

With  2  colored,  9  photogravure,  50  other  illustrations 

Romance  of 
the  Bourbon  Chateaux 

With  colored  frontispiece  and  47  photogravure  and 
other  illustrations 

Romance  of  the  Italian  Villas 

(NORTHERN  ITALY) 

With  colored  frontispiece  and  57  photogravure  and 
other  illustrations 

Romance  of  the  Roman  Villas 

(THE   RENAISSANCE) 

With  51  photogravure  and  other  illustrations 

Romance  of  Imperial  Rome 

With  60  photogravure  and  other  illustrations 

"A  delightful  blending  of  history',  art,  and  romance.  Many  of  the  stories 
are  thrilling  and  none  the  less  exciting  because  they  belong  to  histor>'." 

2'lie  Chicago  Dial. 

"  Told  with  a  keen  eye  to  the  romantic  elements  and  a  clear  understanding 
of  historical  significance." — Boston  Herald. 

"Good  history,  good  story,  and  good  art.  They  are  books  that  will  be  read 
with  interest  this  year  or  ten  or  twenty  years  hence." — Hartford  Courant. 

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G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


In  France,  England,  and  the  United  States,  this  work  is 
recognized  as  the  most  important  of  all  the  contributions  to 
modern  history.  It  places  M,  Hanotaux  in  the  front  rank 
of  French  historians  with  Guizot,  De  Tocqueville,  and  Thiers, 


CONTEMPORARY   FRANCE 

By 
GABRIEL   HANOTAUX 

Formerly  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs 

Translated  by 

JOHN  CHARLES  TARVER  and 
E.  SPARVEL-BAYLY 

Four  volu77ies.  Octavo,  Each  complete  in  itself  and  cover- 
ing a  definite  period.  Illustrated  with  portraits  in  photogra- 
vure.     Sold  separately,  each,  net,  $j.'JS- 

Vol.  I.  FRANCE  IN  1870=1873. 

Vol.  II.  FRANCE  IN  1873=1875. 

Vol.  III.  FRANCE  IN  1874=1877. 

Vol.  IV.  FRANCE  IN  1877=1882. 

"  It  is  with  satisfaction  on  taking  up  one  of  the  most  important  con- 
tributions to  history,  to  find  the  work  so  sympathetically  and  exactly 
translated  as  is  M.  Hanotaux's  '  Contemporary  France.'  Such  a  trans, 
lation  fits  the  American  reader  to  appreciate  the  work  in  all  of  its  excel- 
lence. .  .  .  The  first  of  the  four  volumes  challenges  our  attention 
from  start  to  finish,  because  in  it  we  recognize  not  only  the  work  of  a 
careful,  trained  scholar,  but  also  that  of  the  first-hand  observer. 
M.  Hanotaux  guides  us  with  a  very  personal  hand;  on  every  page  he  gives 
recollections  of  the  great  men  whom  he  himself  has  known.  .  .  .  The 
readers  of  this  volume  will  await  with  keen  interest  the  publication  of  the 
others.  Together  the  four  should  form  a  monument  of  contemporary  his- 
tory indispensable  to  the  library  of  the  student  either  of  recent  history  or 
present  politics." — The  Outlook. 


New  York    G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS       London 


HISTORIC  STATES  OF  ITALY 

A  Series  of  Histories  of  the  Italian  States. 
Each  State  is  treated  as  a  separate  entity;  and 
the  fulness  of  the  treatment  is  determined  by 
the  importance  of  the  State  in  Italian  or 
European  history. 

These  narrations  are  histories  in  the  widest  sense  of  the 
term.  They  describe  not  only  the  political  life  of  the  people, 
but  treat  also  of  the  geographical  conditions  which  influence 
their  temperament,  and  affect  those  social  and  commercial 
impulses  which  in  turn  create  or  modify  their  political  move- 
ments. At  the  same  time,  the  history  of  the  art  and  litera- 
ture of  each  State  is  briefly  told. 

MILAN:  The  House  of  Sforza. 

By  C.  M.  Ady 
PERUGIA.      By   Winiam  Heywood 
VERONA.      By  A.  M.  Allen 

In  Preparation'. 

NAPLES:  The  House  of  Anjou. 

Mr.  G.  Baskerville 
NAPLES :  The  House  of  Aragon. 

Mr.  E.   C.   Cleveland- Stevens 
MILAN :  The  House  of  Visconti. 

Mr.  L.   Statnpa 
FERRARA.     Mr.  Horatio  F.  Brown 
MANTUA.     Miss  M.  I.  Robertson 
BOLOGNA.     Mr.  E.  S.  Lyttel 
PARMA  and  PIACENZA.     Aliss  B.  A.  Lees 
THE  HOUSE  OF  SAVOY.     Mrs.  H.  M.  Vernon 
PISA.     Mr.    William  Heywood 

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"The  Most  Brilliant  Historical  Work  of  Years  " 


By  Quglielmo  Ferrero 

The 
Greatness  and  Decline  of  Rome 

Library  Edition.    S  volumes,  8vo,  uncut  edges,  maroon 
cloth,  $12.^0  net  per  set.     Separately,  each  $2.  J  a  net. 

Student's  Edition,    5  volumes,  8vo,  tritnnied  edges,  blue 
cloth,  $8.00  net  per  set.     Separately,  each  $i.Yj  net. 

Vol.     I.  The  Empire  Builders. 

Vol.    II.  Julius  Caesar. 

Vol.  III.  The  Fall  of  an  Aristocracy. 

Vol.  IV.  Rome  and  Egypt. 

Vol.    V.  The  Republic  of  Augustus. 

Uniform  zvith  "  The  Greatness  and  Decline  of  Nome." 

Characters  and  Events  of  Roman 

History 

From  Caesar  to  Nero  (60  B.C.-70  A.D.) 

Authorized  Translation  by  Frances  Lance  Ferrero 

8vo.      With  Portrait.     $2.50  net 

"  His  largeness  of  vision,  his  sound  scholarship,  his  sense  of  proportion, 
his  power  to  measure  life  that  has  been  by  his  observation  of  life  that  is — his 
possession  of  the  true  historical  sense.  .  .  .  He  is  a  bold,  not  to  say- 
audacious,  proponent  of  new  theories  and  conclusions  wholly  at  variance  from 
those  of  his  innumerable  predecessors  in  this  most  industriously  cultivated  of 
all  historic  fields.  The  translation  is  competent  and  more  than  that,  and  the 
history  is  good  reading  throughout.  There  are  no  dry  pages." — N.  Y.  Times. 
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